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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28128417">the ugly things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorleague_softboi/pseuds/majorleague_softboi'>majorleague_softboi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cheating, Family Drama, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Sounds Very DramaticTM But is Mostly About Healing, Therapy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:00:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,537</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28128417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorleague_softboi/pseuds/majorleague_softboi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The days went from ceaseless cooking show marathons to poring over job ads on every website he knew and even the local paper. Taeyong goes to Lowe’s after disappointing searches to find plants which will allegedly allow him to nurture a deeper relationship with himself as he nurtures his leafy children. Self-love, he reads, can cost as little as $5.99. </p><p>When the plants start growing, green and fresh in his shoebox apartment, while Taeyong still feels small and stupid, he finds help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. won't even think about it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a longish two-parter I wrote to keep my brain busy with fiction while 2020 waged war on the world and my nerves. The concept came from a series of sad songs I had on loop for a while (MUNA's Taken, Lorde's Liability, and more) and so if you know those tunes, you may recognize some themes and even one direct quote. </p><p>This is rated M because there's one sex scene and it isn't very long or in detail, but it is there. There's also some weed smoking. Aside from that, I'll say: take the warning about self-esteem issues seriously. I'm not using that tag to refer to body image things, but TY's relationship to himself is somewhat vexed. I don't consider this to be an extremely angsty fic, but this TY is in a bit of a rough place and that's reflected in his story.</p><p>TY works in a gallery and aside from the faintest hint of research and the occasional visits I've done, I have zero clue how they work so *waves magic fiction writing wand.* </p><p>Finally, I've done my best to edit this, but it is un-betaed so, uh, there's that. If none of this bothers you, read on~</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t know if I was attracted or repulsed by him,” Taeyong says. </p><p>Taeyong is lounged in a squashy forest green chair with dark spindly mid-century legs that he likes a lot. </p><p>“Taeyong,” says Taeil. </p><p>Taeil’s on the chartreuse loveseat adjacent Taeyong, shoes kicked off, and legs stretched across the seats as he leans against an arm. He raises one hand from where it’s been folded over his lap and the inobtrusive notepad he favors to point at the sign framed beside the door to his office. </p><p><em> No lying</em>. </p><p>Taeyong remembers the first time Taeil had referenced his framed rules (it’s really <em> No lying </em> repeated three times). It had been their second time meeting and Taeyong had said he’d started knitting to teach himself patience. </p><p>It’d been a little half lie half joke at his expense — <em>haha</em> <em>Taeyong is so fucking stupid, he has no self control</em> — but Taeil hadn’t so much as nodded in acknowledgement before gesturing towards the rules in their minimalistic gold frame. </p><p>“Isn’t that against like therapist rules?” Taeyong had asked. “Shouldn’t you be less confrontational. You know, let me talk and then hum in acknowledgement.” </p><p>“Maybe,” Taeil had shrugged, “but I find most people I talk to benefit from this rule. We tend to lie a lot about ourselves especially to ourselves. We can be cruel to ourselves so absentmindedly — my rule is here to help mitigate that as much as possible.” </p><p>Taeyong, frozen, could only watch as the unassuming Dr. Moon pulled the first thread out of Taeyong and held it up in the space between them. Something in Taeyong unfurled slightly even as the action smarted. </p><p>“You’re mean, aren’t you?” Taeyong had asked. </p><p>“A little,” Taeil had allowed something like amusement to glitter behind his eyes then, “but what you should be more interested in is how much my honesty feels like bullying to you. How long have you been lying to yourself, Taeyong?” </p><p>Taeyong had huffed then, equal parts incredulous and amused, “A long time.” </p><p>Taeil jotted something down in his small notepad then and Taeyong laughed openly — his ungraceful crow laugh that he rarely let out — as he decided that he was going to keep seeing Dr. Moon. </p><p>Now, almost three months later, Taeyong reserves a silent curse for Past Taeyong. He had no idea what three months of something that (incredibly, unfathomably) feels like progress with Taeil would be like. Namely, a weekly attempt to burrow his way past an immovable object. </p><p>Taeil, for better and worse, is a rock. </p><p>“It was both,” Taeyong relents after a long beat of silence. “I was attracted and repulsed by Jaehyun.” </p><p>“How so?” Taeil asks. </p><p>“We were similar,” Taeyong says. He feels the way he always does once Taeil hooks onto and pulls out a thread for Taeyong to look at: he has to pull at it even if every tug fills his gut with dread. </p><p>“I got the feeling that he’d seldom been loved,” Taeyong says, “for real. In a way that matters. In a way that didn’t have to do with how handsome he is. He hid a lot of himself, but only because he wanted to be seen so badly that his own craving freaked him out.” </p><p>“I knew him so easily, just by looking, by chatting,” Taeyong says, “and when I found out he was...taken, and not only that, but that he cared for this person, that this person cared for him — I wanted to blow it all up in his face.” </p><p>“Did you feel that way immediately?”</p><p>The question gives Taeyong pause. He thinks back. Remembers the way he’d noticed Jaehyun’s dimples first as the man greeted Taeyong politely on the floor of the store Taeyong had been working at then and asked him a question. </p><p>Remembers how Jaehyun became a frequent customer buying things that no one purchased, lingering as Taeyong stocked displays, eventually inviting Taeyong for coffee in spite of the way he sometimes wore shirts that clearly weren’t his, had two different colognes embedded into the beanie he once pulled onto Taeyong’s head outside the store as the leaves fell off the trees. </p><p>Remembers the way a tall, strapping man walked into the coffee shop they’d started frequenting by winter and leaned down over a tensed Jaehyun and pressed a kiss onto one rapidly fading dimple. </p><p>“No,” Taeyong says. “I didn’t want to ruin his life immediately. At first, I thought he was lovely. He looked like the lead of a romantic manga and acted like one, too.” </p><p>“Then, I learned he had a really stupid sense of humor. Like, he could never tell a joke properly. He got too excited about it. I really liked that. I liked how obvious he was about liking me even though I could tell he was with someone.” </p><p>“You didn’t have a problem with his infidelity.”</p><p>“I didn’t care. It was nice to have someone look at me in my corporate issue slacks and polo and want me. And he wanted me so obviously. I made him nervous.” </p><p>“Taeyong.” </p><p>“I know, considering everything, I should have cared more, but I really didn’t,” Taeyong says. “It did make me uneasy sometimes, but at first, I didn’t think he cared about his partner. Who starts chatting up some random at their local big box store if they’re in a happy relationship, right?”</p><p>“But, even when I saw the way they looked at each other and I started thinking back...being desired like that, it was heady, it kept that feeling in the pit of my stomach at bay for a while.” </p><p>“For a while?” </p><p>“Until he started backpedalling, until he started looking at me like I was holding a knife even though we hadn’t done so much as hold hands,” Taeyong says. “Then, I wanted to tear his house down. I wanted to have done something to earn the fear and <em> regret </em> he started looking at me with.” </p><p>“Were you upset that he seemed to be blaming you or that he didn’t want you anymore?” </p><p>Taeyong glances up at Taeil. Taeil is already looking at him — watching him the whole time — unapologetic as he hands Taeyong the last bit of thread and instructs him to keep pulling. </p><p>“I hated him for making a prop out of me,” Taeyong says. “I hated him for making me realize how easy it was for me to do something I said I’d never do just to have someone <em> look </em> at me, <em> want </em> me so badly.” </p><p>“And,” Taeyong laughs, “I really do fucking hate him for deciding he didn’t want me anymore. The way he blamed me was just sort of <em> right </em> in the end. A spiteful cherry on top. What was I expecting from someone who cheated, right?” </p><p>Taeil lets the silence drag until Taeyong feels exposed enough to risk meeting his gaze again. It’s far from the first time Taeyong’s revealed something ugly in Taeil’s office, but everytime feels equally gutting and leaves him reading the lines of Taeil’s stone face for some sign that he isn’t unhinged. </p><p>Taeil rarely ever lets any kind of comfort creep into his expression. There’s no carrot in his practice, just the stick. He pokes and prods until he finds a loose thread and then makes Taeyong start pulling at it until he tugs something loose. </p><p>Still, Taeil’s rules apply to himself, too and sometimes, as Taeyong is coming to understand, the truth can be a kindness. </p><p>“It isn’t wrong to feel hurt,” Taeil says as Taeyong meets his gaze. “Jaehyun invested time into you, initiated an intense emotional relationship with you, and then pulled back with no word.” </p><p>“He had a partner. I knew that.” </p><p>“You did,” agrees Taeil easily, “but so did he. Maybe you hurt him and his partner, but that doesn’t negate that he hurt you.” </p><p>“I pushed,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“You lashed out. You wanted to hurt him for hurting you.” </p><p>“Who does that?” Taeyong bites out feeling his face heat. </p><p>“Everyone, Taeyong,” Taeil says. “We all can and do want to hurt people when they hurt us. I’m not actually here to bully you, you know.” </p><p>Taeyong huffs. </p><p>“Therapy isn’t penance, Taeyong.” </p><p>“I know that.” </p><p>“Do you?”</p><p>“I do.” </p><p>“Good, then, stop acting like it. What you disclose here is for you to process and work through <em> not </em> for me to judge and deride you for.” </p><p>“I know that.” </p><p>A beat. </p><p>“You’re the worst fucking therapist.” </p><p>“Thank you. I fucking hate most therapists.” </p><p>Taeyong laughs in spite of himself. When Taeil makes a particularly ostentatious scribble in his notepad, Taeyong laughs harder. </p><p>“The <em> worst. </em>” </p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Therapy, like the knitting and the dozen new houseplants Taeyong brings home from <em> Lowe’s </em> , comes from too much time spent looking up <em>self love </em> online. </p><p>A month after The DisasterTM, Taeyong can still hear the disbelief tinged with disgust that ran through Mark’s words to him in the car ride home following Jaehyun’s birthday party. </p><p>“Is this because of dad?” Mark had asked from the driver’s seat of his nauseatingly hot Honda Civic. The heater had busted while cranked on max a few weeks earlier. Even deep in the throws of winter, it felt stifling. </p><p>“Because Taeyong, that was years ago, we were kids. You need to grow up and start loving yourself.” </p><p>Taeyong didn’t cry, but only because it felt like Mark had taken the wind out of him like the time he’d barged into the bathroom of their childhood apartment and Taeyong had slipped in alarm and fallen stomach first onto the bathtub edge. </p><p>It had taken him minutes to find his voice, body tangled in the torn shower curtain he’d pulled down with him, and reassure Mark that he wasn’t dying.</p><p>In the car, years past the childhood apartment they’d moved out of after their mom got a promotion, Taeyong didn’t have it in him to reassure Mark or say anything really. He felt emptied out. </p><p>Taeyong thinks he still does and so he finds himself taking a bus to the Lowe’s across town one afternoon after a morning of demoralizing job searching in search of something to fill the space. He quit his job a week after everything, unable to stomach slipping into his stupid fucking work slacks and shelving soup cans eight hours a day again, and had been living off his measly savings since then.</p><p>He’d lasted three weeks until he was staring down the <em> last call deals </em> bin at the grocery store debating between slightly stale bread loaves before deciding he needed an income stream again. </p><p>The days went from ceaseless cooking show marathons to poring over job ads on every website he knew and even the local paper. He goes to <em> Lowe’s </em> after disappointing searches to find plants which will allegedly allow him to nurture a deeper relationship with himself as he nurtures his leafy children. Self-love, he reads, can cost as little as $5.99. </p><p>When the plants start growing, green and fresh in his shoebox apartment, while Taeyong still feels small and stupid, he finds Taeil. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong has two button down shirts in his closet. They’re both long sleeved. One is white, too tight in the shoulders, and a remnant from a high school uniform. The other is pale blue, just right in size, and a Christmas present from Jaehyun. </p><p>“I’m fucking cursed,” Taeyong tells his bare chested reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s got five minutes to make a decision about his top before he’s got to make the next bus across town for a job interview. </p><p>The art gallery in a trendy historical part of town called back. Taeyong’s art knowledge is limited to being able to identify <em> Starry Night </em> on the kitschy tote bags they sold at his old job. He doesn’t know why they called him, but he needs this job.</p><p>Taeyong ends up pulling a plain white t-shirt out of his drawer and throwing a black cardigan over it. He bins Jaehyun’s present before running to the bus stop just in time to catch his ride. </p><p>The interview is with the gallery directors. Junmyeon is an affable man who greets Taeyong with a surprisingly cheery smile and sits back as Kyungsoo, poker faced, asks the questions. </p><p>Miraculously, they seem to like Taeyong. </p><p>“More than someone with a wealth of knowledge in art, we’re in need of someone who can complete self-directed work, can think, problem solve, and knows how to ask questions if they’re struggling,” Kyungsoo explains at the end of the interview. </p><p>“You’d be surprised by how many people just can’t or don’t know how to come in and <em> work </em>,” Junmyeon says. </p><p>“Do you think you can do that?” asks Kyungsoo. </p><p>“Definitely,” Taeyong blurts out. </p><p>“Great, can you start Monday?”</p><p>Taeyong nods so sharply his neck hurts. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Bizarrely, Taeyong likes working at the gallery. He’s never been a great student. He left school behind as soon as possible, but he finds he likes going through the gallery early in the morning and reading the plaques beside the paintings and sculptures and installations in the gallery. </p><p>Taeyong likes watching the films that they screen during quiet hours. He likes searching on the internet for interviews with the artists after he’s had his fill of looking and taking everything in. </p><p>And it’s not just the art either. Kyungsoo, beneath his blank faced demeanor, is perhaps the most considerate supervisor Taeyong’s ever had. He greets Taeyong and the other employees every morning and sometimes brings in cardboard trays of coffee orders on the weekends when everyone looks a little sleepy-eyed. </p><p>He also, when he catches Taeyong stuck in front of a particularly expansive 3D yarn installation spiderwebbing out of one corner of the gallery, slips into the small library between his and Junmyeon’s offices and returns with a book on installation art. </p><p>“Here,” Kyungsoo says. “There’s a chapter on that specific artist in here. You can return it whenever. We’ve got another copy.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Taeyong mumbles. </p><p>Kyungsoo only hums in reply before wandering off. </p><p>Junmyeon is equally kind, Taeyong learns. Where Kyungsoo is quiet and observant, Junmyeon is open and obvious in his warmth. He’s the first to tell everyone ‘good work’ when they close for the day or to celebrate a good idea at a staff meeting. </p><p>Even the other assistants are nice. There’s chirpy Jungwoo who charms everyone that walks in, Renjun who despite being the youngest is knowledgeable enough to help curate, and Sicheng who says virtually nothing, but knows everything about gallery finances. </p><p>The pay is better, too, and Taeyong wanders through his neighborhood thrift store a month after starting with enough money left over after paying rent, utilities, and grocery shopping to pick out button downs that don’t give him anxiety, slacks that fit the jut of his hipbones, a pair of pleasantly worn in oxfords, and a pair of shiny black heeled boots that pull up his spine and iron out his posture. </p><p>He wears the boots to a retroactive exhibit devoted to the works of a famous performance artist. Kyungsoo had asked Taeyong earlier in the week to be the one to do the write up for their in-house publication on city wide arts events. Torn between embarrassment that he wasn’t qualified enough to be charged with the assignment and an intense desire to rise to the challenge, Taeyong ended up agreeing. </p><p>And so he finds himself, opening night, wandering through the exhibit, a flute of something bubbly in hand, trying to look like he belongs there amidst the people rubbing elbows and dramatically leaning over the props and placards. </p><p>Taeyong throws in the towel pretty quickly. He surmises that he’s not nearly important enough to be approached for conversation and figures his chances of saying something that will out him as a know nothing are slim. </p><p>He helps himself to another drink and slips into the less crowded video rooms at the back of the gallery space. He’s just in time to see the screen go dark and then loop back to the beginning. </p><p>Dropping down onto one edge of the bench in the cool room, Taeyong watches as on screen a woman enters a white room. She’s nude but unconscious about the way her body moves, rolls, or curls as she enters the space. </p><p>A man enters opposite. He looks idyllic like the greco-roman statues that Jungwoo studies and sketches in the margins of his notebooks sometimes. They eye each other and for a second, their movements mirror each other as they step closer to one another in sometimes clumsy and childish and other times balletic motions. </p><p>They move through rooms together sometimes walking side by side and sometimes chasing, sometimes quiet and sometimes yelling, each step they take they seem to look more and more like each other. </p><p>Finally, they happen upon a tree. It’s an abstracted green bolt of fabric pinned to a wall, but something about the way the wind seems to catch and move it feels like a breeze whipping through the brush and Tayeong recognizes it. </p><p>A red ball falls onto the ground at their feet. The man reaches down curiously and picks it up. They hold the ball between their hands. They bite the fruit. Red splatters between them, dripping down their faces, on their teeth. </p><p>A moment of stillness so long Taeyong feels his teeth clench. Then a loud crack, a gesture so sudden Taeyong’s eyes don’t understand what happened until he sees the red welt on the woman’s face as she looks up at her foil from the red stained floor. </p><p>An inhuman sound as she moans in pain and he, almost against his will, moans too. A lone shot of the red spilling out down her stomach and pooling in her belly button. The man moves and the screen goes dark. </p><p>Taeyong shudders. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until a hand holding up a tissue crops into his line of sight. He takes it, pressing it against his cheeks, and turns to the person beside him. </p><p>“Her work is overwhelming,” the man says. </p><p>His eyes are dewy and he looks around Taeyong’s age or just slightly older. His voice is unexpectedly light and almost cutesy sounding for someone dressed head to toe in black. </p><p>“Tell me about it,” Taeyong sniffles. </p><p>“Was this your first time seeing it?” asks the man. </p><p>“Yeah,” says Taeyong. “I’m doing a write up on the exhibit, but I came in as a bit of a blank slate.” </p><p>“That’s probably the best way to experience an artist so well known. I’m Doyoung. What’s your name, Mr. Writer?” </p><p>“Taeyong. Occasional writer, full-time gallery assistant.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah? Where at if you don’t mind me asking.” </p><p>Taeyong tells him and watches a tiny indeterminate glint spark in Doyoung’s eyes. Taeyong elbows him. </p><p>“You can’t make a face like that after I disclose my workplace,” Taeyong says. “Are you going to stalk me or something, now? Because my boss is tiny, but I think he could definitely put you in a chokehold.” </p><p>Doyoung snorts, “Kyungsoo could absolutely choke me out. No doubt. I’m just amused at how tiny this city can be. I go to your workplace all the time and we never meet and I end up bumping into you here. It’s a little funny is all.”</p><p>“Serendipitous,” Taeyong says as the word comes to mind. He remembers watching a romantic comedy on tv about a similar concept with his mom one weekend after they’d both gotten home from their respective jobs. </p><p>Taeyong remembers being sixteen and trudging onto their creaky apartment floor, toeing off his ugly, but comfortable black sneakers, and falling onto the sofa in his khakis and blue polo as his mom poked her head out of the kitchen. </p><p>She’d still been wearing her own uniform — seafoam scrubs — and asked in that soft voice that Mark sometimes used when he asked Taeyong to knot his school tie if he wanted to watch a movie with her. </p><p>“Mmm, maybe. Serendipity usually means it’s a good coincidence though. I could turn out to be a real jerk,” Doyoung says. </p><p>“I doubt you’re a jerk,” Taeyong says. </p><p>Doyoung eyes him, “How come?”</p><p>“Kyungsoo wouldn’t let you into the gallery that often if he hated you,” Taeyong reasons, “and I trust his judgment.” </p><p>Doyoung huffs slightly and nods, “He inspires trust.” </p><p>“Do you work in art?” asks Taeyong. “Or are you a rich person who buys it?” </p><p>“Both,” Doyoung grins. “I work as a curator and sometimes art writer for publications. I stop by your workplace so much because I trust Kyungsoo’s judgment, too. And Junmyeon’s. We’ve got similar taste in art.” </p><p>“You like installation art?” asks Taeyong. </p><p>“I love it,” Doyoung nods. </p><p>Taeyong smiles. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing. You just look different when you’re actually earnest about something.” </p><p>It’s a bad idea. Taeyong’s pressing greasy fingers on a glass. He shouldn’t slant his eyes at Doyoung in the way he knows makes him look equal parts naive and alluring. He does anyway. </p><p>Doyoung snorts, “Do people often fall for that?” </p><p>Taeyong freezes. </p><p>“This ‘oh no, I’m helpless, please take care of me’ routine?” he continues. </p><p>Taeyong swallows, “I don’t know what you mean.” </p><p>He wonders if it’s too late to politely excuse himself and flee the room. Death by humiliation might be what Taeyong deserves for never being able to control his impulses around handsome men, but it’s a lot. He feels a flush building up his neck. </p><p>“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Doyoung says. His irises are as dark as his pupils and his sights are locked onto Taeyong’s reddening face.</p><p>“Didn’t you?”</p><p>“No. I only meant you should ask for what you want. Out loud.” </p><p>Taeyong feels sweat build at the base of his spine. <em> Just that </em> , Taeyong thinks, <em> like you aren’t enjoying seeing me squirm. </em> </p><p>Still, there’s something about the way Doyoung postures himself that feels kind. He doesn’t loom or box Taeyong like some bigger men like to. He’s a respectful distance away, but he doesn’t feel aloof either. The intensity of Doyoung’s eyes clearly lay out his investment. </p><p>It is a powerplay, a tease with a little too much teeth in it for a first meeting, but one done with affection, with interest, and an upsettingly attractive sense of ease. </p><p>“I want you,” Taeyong whispers. “I want to go home with you.” </p><p>Doyoung smiles then like a cat arching up into the sunlight, comfort and delight written into the creases of his face, “Good, I want you to, too.” </p><p> </p><p>The sex is good...and strange. Not bad, but strange. Doyoung fucks like he carries himself: intensely, with humor, and without apology. He doesn’t put Taeyong on his stomach or try to fold him like a pretzel. He asks what Taeyong wants, touches softly, and observes like he has an exam on Taeyong’s anatomy in two weeks time. </p><p>He builds up slowly touching Taeyong softly and teasing until Taeyong’s flushed all over and a little stupid with how good he feels. Doyoung’s got Taeyong’s legs locked around his back, driving into Taeyong with deep and languid motions, when he brushes Taeyong’s hair back from his face and looks down at him. </p><p>Doyoung looks unreal with broad shoulders tapering down into a tiny waist which Taeyong had gripped in wonder when Doyoung’s top first came off and sweat beading at the roots of his inky hair. </p><p>“And to think, you wanted to play games with me tonight instead of just asking for what you wanted,” Doyoung sighs. “You could’ve asked for this outright, but you wanted me to act out some weird roleplay.” </p><p>Taeyong pants, “I wasn’t.”</p><p>“Weren’t you, Mr. Ingenue? You put on a face like you’d never had dick in your life and you wanted me to teach you something.” </p><p>Taeyong squirms, “I did not!” </p><p>“You did.” </p><p>“I meant it— oh— when I said you look different when you’re earnest.” </p><p>“I know,” Doyoung’s eyes soften minutely. “That’s the only reason I didn’t politely change the subject instead of asking you what you wanted.” </p><p>“Still,” Doyoung smirks. “Your face after what you said. Where’d you even learn that? Who believes your little <em> who me? </em> act?” </p><p>“Don’t be mean to me right now,” Taeyong groans.</p><p>“You like it,” Doyoung says looking pointedly down between their stomachs.</p><p>“Don’t be mean right now,” Taeyong repeats, mouth falling open as their hips find a particularly delicious angle. </p><p>Doyoung slides his thumb over Taeyong’s bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth, nestling into the flesh of his cheek. </p><p>“Okay,” Doyoung agrees, pressing his sweaty forehead against Taeyong’s, “I’ll be mean to you later.” </p><p>Taeyong laughs reluctantly for a split second before his stomach jumps as his orgasm rushes through him. His thighs quake and he feels Doyoung shudder between them, finding his own release, as Taeyong’s extremities start to tingle. </p><p>“Shit,” Doyoung groans dropping down onto his elbows around Taeyong, sweat dripping off his chest onto Taeyong’s collarbone, before pulling back. He sits on his heels for a second before moving to clean up. </p><p>Taeyong, for his part, is a dead weight on the bed, legs still spread, body lax as his mind floats above him. He’s breathing a little slower by the time Doyoung returns with a damp towel to wipe him and the sheets down. </p><p>Taeyong opens his mouth. He means to say something like thanks or see you around and go, but a bone deep exhaustion settles into his muscles, and what he manages is, “Sleep?” </p><p>Doyoung breathes a laugh through his nose, “Yeah, baby, you can sleep.” </p><p>“Baby?” Taeyong asks eyes barely open. </p><p>“‘Fraid so,” Doyoung says as he flops down beside him. </p><p>“Mmm,” Taeyong murmurs indecisively as he succumbs to sleep with Doyoung’s incredulous laughter tickling his neck. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s alarm wakes him. He snoozes it knowing there’s another one set for five minutes later, but barely a second later, there’s louder droning sound echoing through the room and a bright glow beginning to radiate out of the corner of his eye. </p><p>He blinks crusted eyes open and spots a clock with a light at its base on a night stand to his right. Frowning, Taeyong peers to his left and spots a ruffled looking Doyoung poking his head up to reveal pillow creases on his cheek. Taeyong notes, with vague interest dulled by sleep, Doyoung’s shirtlessness as he stretches out to slap the alarm quiet. </p><p>“Work?” Taeyong asks. </p><p>“Mmm,” Doyoung groans as he plants his face back into the bed, settles on his knees, and arches his back in a long stretch. “No, no work on weekends. Babysitting.” </p><p>“Baby? Whose baby?” </p><p>“My brother’s.” </p><p>“Every week’nd?” </p><p>“Second of the month. It’s date night. Well, day.” </p><p>“Hmm, cute.” </p><p>“Very,” agrees Doyoung as he lifts from the bed to sit on his heels. “What about you? Work?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong groans as he crunches up into a seated position. His thighs jolt slightly, faintly tender from yesterday. </p><p>“Mmm,” Doyoung says. “Breakfast?” </p><p>Taeyong glances at the clock and then nods. His stomach gurgles in emphatic agreement. </p><p>“Got it,” Doyoung tells it. Then, to Taeyong, “Help yourself to the shower and towels. I don’t have a spare toothbrush, but you’re welcome to the toothpaste.” </p><p>With that, he slips out the bedroom. </p><p>Taeyong, for his part, is sleepy enough that the weird morning after feelings don’t happen until he’s toweling his hair and and rubbing along his teeth with a toothpaste dotted finger. </p><p>“What the fuck?” he asks his reflection around a mouthful of minty toothpaste. He rinses his mouth with cool water and sighs. </p><p>Really, he doesn’t regret it. Doyoung might know his bosses, but he didn’t work at the gallery. Doyoung doesn’t seem like the type to gossip about him to them either. Even if he did, reasons Taeyong, Kyungsoo and Junmyeon aren’t the kind of people who’d judge him for having sex with a consenting adult.</p><p>It’s not a big deal, Taeyong tells himself. Still, he wonders if this isn’t backsliding. After The DistasterTM, for the span of about a week, Taeyong had gone home with a lot of people. At first, he’d thought of it as a distraction from being home alone, jobless, with too much time to think. Then, although he’d never voiced it, Taeyong thought it might be about proving himself desirable. </p><p>Since then, Taeyong has been abstaining while also trying very hard not to frame it that way. He isn’t a sex addict. He’s just an idiot whenever sex and attraction are involved and he’s been trying to just <em> not </em> for a while. </p><p>And now, as he slides back into last night’s clothes,Taeyong finds himself struggling to readjust his stupid busted plan. He pads out into the open plan living room and kitchen space and finds Doyoung seated at the island counter that divides the two areas with two bowls of rice topped with sunny side up eggs.  </p><p>“There’s coffee in the pot if you drink it. Mugs above the sink,” Doyoung says as he takes a sip from his own. </p><p>Taeyong nods and shuffles over to pour himself some. </p><p>“Milk?” he asks. </p><p>“No, but there’s sugar in the jar next to the pot.” </p><p>Taeyong dumps three spoons of sugar into his cup, stirs it in, leaves the spoon in the sink and takes a seat. He takes a tiny sip and tears into his egg yolk. The edges crackle perfectly they split under his spoon. </p><p>“Thanks for the food.” </p><p>“Mmm,” Doyoung says around his mouthful of food. </p><p>Taeyong takes a bite and hums around it. He eats with vigour that surprises him and Doyoung and ends up staring at the bottom of the bowl before he knows it. </p><p>“Are you gonna be okay?” </p><p>“Don’t judge me. I haven’t had a fried egg in a while.” </p><p>“Don’t tell me you’re one of those adult guys who can’t cook anything.” </p><p>“I can cook okay. I just suck at frying eggs. They always pop or overcook.” </p><p>Doyoung shakes his head, but finishes his breakfast without further comment before stacking their bowls and ferrying them to the sink. He washes the dishes efficiently and sets them in the drying rack. </p><p>Taeyong drains his coffee and kicks his feet back and forth on the stool. He opens his mouth to say something — he’s not sure what — as Doyoung turns off the tap and turns to face him. </p><p>“Don’t be weird,” Doyoung says simply. “You can leave without a fuss. I’m not going to stalk you, Taeyong.”</p><p>Taeyong frowns and peers down at his empty mug. </p><p>“Or do you want to see me again?” Doyoung asks.</p><p>Taeyong stares. Doyoung seems a little softer in the morning. He doesn’t pin Taeyong down with his eyes like he did in the gallery and in bed. Instead, he turns away to start watering the houseplants that sit by the windows.  </p><p>Rising from his seat, Taeyong washes his mug and sets it in the drying rack while he thinks. Doyoung won’t pursue him. He’s not going to make a scene at Taeyong’s workplace. It’s good to have it confirmed. </p><p>Still, Taeyong likes the easy way they took up conversation in the gallery, on the subway ride to Doyoung’s place, in bed even. Doyoung says what he means. For better or worse. And Taeyong finds he likes talking without pretense even if it isn’t his usual mode of conversing. </p><p>Doyoung presses a fingertip to the dip of Taeyong’s back, a small touch so they don’t bump into each other as Doyoung reaches past Taeyong where he stands, still facing the sink, to fill his small watering can up again. </p><p>Taeyong waits for him to say anything, to cajole him into something, but Doyoung is silent and turns back to his plants once he’s gotten enough water. Taeyong thinks about turning around, unbuttoning his shirt, simpering to get a rise out of him, but the memory of Doyoung’s dark eyes glittering with amusement at his last attempt at playing stupid makes his cheeks burn. </p><p><em> Ask for what you want </em> he recalls Doyoung’s sotto voice teetering like it always seems to be on the edge of cool amusement and affection. </p><p>“Do you want me?” Taeyong asks. </p><p>He tries very hard not to immediately regret asking. </p><p>Doyoung, for his part, doesn’t laugh at the earnest question. He’s serious as he turns to Taeyong.</p><p>“Yes,” says Doyoung. </p><p>Taeyong nods. </p><p>Doyoung sets down the watering can and trods towards Taeyong. He presses a finger to the underside of Taeyong’s chin. </p><p>“Say it with words,” Doyoung huffs. “I’m not telepathic.” </p><p>Taeyong scrunches his face, but doesn’t point out that Doyoung seems to know exactly what he’s going to say.</p><p>“I want to see you again.” </p><p>“Great, me, too.” </p><p>And it’s easier then for Taeyong to rise on his toes and press their lips together for a breath before grabbing his things and slipping into his boots. </p><p>Doyoung meets him by the door and waits while he does up the zippers. </p><p>Taeyong peers curiously at him before sliding up into another peck. </p><p>“Good stuff,” Doyoung says to Taeyong’s question mark eyes, “but I was hoping for your cell phone number.” </p><p>Taeyong flushes and a helpless <em> hahaha </em> descending in tone and volume escapes him before he manages to recite his phone number. </p><p>Doyoung slips his cell, with its new contact, onto the table beside the shoe rack and then brings hand up to thumb at the corner of Taeyong’s mouth. </p><p>“One more?” he asks, eyes alight with mirth. </p><p>“Don’t make fun of me,” Taeyong huffs. Then, “Yes.” </p><p>Doyoung dips down and covers Taeyong’s mouth with his own.</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p>  </p><p>Taeyong dreams about strange details. The way Johnny combed his honey brown hair in an almost but not quite middle part. 60-40 ratio. The way he filled up rooms. The way Jaehyun’s eyes were always tracking him. </p><p>He recalls the easy way Johnny had befriended him in that cafe he’d found Taeyong and Jaehyun in. Easy like Johnny could befriend anyone. And he could, Taeyong reasons, he’d befriended Taeyong, after all. </p><p>Taeyong dreams of the way Johnny would trudge into his and Jaehyun’s apartment and slide down on top of Jaehyun in a slump until Jaehyun was giggling and the two of them were caught up in sweet pecks, one after the other, like Taeyong wasn’t on the sofa with them just a few inches away. Like Taeyong wasn’t there at all. </p><p>Like Jaehyun hadn’t been watching Taeyong while Taeyong pretended to watch the movie on tv — in the dream it’s the same movie he watched with his mom all those years ago — while occasionally letting his eyes drift to Jaehyun just to watch his ears flush red. </p><p>Taeyong dreams they’re kissing and he eats up those few inches between them to press his body close up against them, forehead against Jaehyun’s shoulder, knee brushing Johnny’s thigh, to feel their warmth. </p><p>Taeyong wakes up sweaty in the threadbare sheets he’s had for years with tears prickling the corners of his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Doyoung eats a lot. Besides trolling through art exhibits, Doyoung’s creature comfort is food. </p><p>He has two story highlights on his Instagram titled ‘eats’ that are back to back photos and short videos of food spreads and the occasional clip of him slurping up a bowl of noodles with childish glee. He tags famous eateries when he visits them and exchanges thankful words with chefs. </p><p>Still, Doyoung isn’t strictly a gourmet. He favors big portions, comfort foods, and loves nighttime snacking in the quiet of his apartment. </p><p>The first time Taeyong sees Doyoung wipe the last of the cooling sweat off his post-coital body, slip wordlessly off the bed, and return with a value size tub of chocolate ice cream, Taeyong can’t hold back his graceless, full throated crow laugh. </p><p>“What.” </p><p>Doyoung flops onto the bed on his side propped up on an elbow as he ferries a generous spoonful of ice cream to his mouth. He hums at the taste and nabs an even larger second spoonful. </p><p>“This just,” Taeyong says between giggles, “doesn’t seem like the same guy I met in that gallery. You looked so <em> severe </em> and now I find out you’re snack fiend.” </p><p>Doyoung laughs around another spoonful. </p><p>“It’s called being multifaceted,” Doyoung exhales loudly. </p><p>Taeyong grins, “Is that what it’s called?” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Not gluttony?” </p><p> Doyoung cuts his eyes at Taeyong and crawls across the bed pressing down onto Taeyong slowly. He’s still got the spoon in his hand and Taeyong can see a lump of ice cream sliding around dangerously on it. </p><p>“Take it back or your belly gets it,” Doyoung says holding the spoon over Taeyong’s bare tummy. </p><p>“You’re going to waste ice cream on my belly?” Taeyong bats his eyes. </p><p>Doyoung scowls, “You’re right.” </p><p>He swallows the spoonful of ice cream and without another word, drops the spoon as he descends on Taeyong with tickling fingers. </p><p>Taeyong cries with laughter before he relents. </p><p>“You’ve never been gluttonous a day in your life!” he yelps. </p><p>“Mmm,” Doyoung considers, fingers poised above Taeyong’s ribs, “try again. With feeling.” He digs his fingers in again. </p><p>Taeyong, gasping, manages to roll them over and wiggle his hands under Doyoung’s armpits. The breathless laugh Doyoung lets out then tears another burst of helpless laughter from Taeyong and he flops onto Doyoung unable to enact the rest of his revenge.</p><p>Doyoung drops his hands too, letting them rub up and down Taeyong’s spine slowly as Taeyong battles on and off fits of giggles.</p><p>“I like this so much,” Taeyong says thoughtless, out of breath, into Doyoung’s sternum. </p><p>Doyoung’s hands still and Taeyong has a moment to flush at his own abrupt earnestness before Doyoung scrunches a hand up into Taeyong’s sweaty hair and says softly, “Me, too.” </p><p>Face red, Taeyong burrows further, nose dipping into Doyoung’s collarbone, chin into his chest. </p><p>“Hey, pay the deposit before you move in,” Doyoung huffs. </p><p>Taeyong’s laughter shakes both their bodies and he rises on his palms, shuffling up, until he can lay his elbows on either side of Doyoung and drop down for a long, slow kiss. </p><p>“Can I have a discount?” Taeyong asks. </p><p>Doyoung looks up at him, fond, before he rolls his eyes. </p><p>“You have to be funnier first,” he says shoulders shaking minutely. </p><p>Taeyong flops down abruptly — Doyoung lets out a loud <em> oof </em> — and sighs, “I really can’t stand you.” </p><p>Doyoung laughs loudly then and Taeyong hides a smile in his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong is eleven and it’s loud. He hears the bangs of dresser drawers yanked out of place. He hears his mom’s furious growl and his father’s voice quiet and then booming. </p><p>Mark is seven and looking at Taeyong with wide eyes from across their shared bedroom. His hair sticks up. His eyes are swollen from sleep still. He hugs his blanket tight around his body. </p><p>Taeyong hears a door slam and walks to the window overlooking the street. Outside, his dad — a dark figure in the driveway and then a dark dot in the muscle car Taeyong remembers riding shotgun in as a tot (<em> seatbelt, yong-ah, and don’t tell mom </em>) — blinks out of sight underneath the dim jaundiced lightposts. </p><p>In the morning, when Mark’s in the tub, washing up after wetting the bed in the night, Taeyong asks his mom where his dad went and she explains that he’s not coming back. When Taeyong asks why, his mom says his dad couldn’t stop touching other women. </p><p> </p><p>When Taeyong is sixteen, his dad shows up one day outside his school as students are let out. His dad is leaning against a different car — white and sensible — and has a box in his hands. </p><p>Taeyong’s got twenty minutes to bike to the nearby family owned pharmacy he started working at as soon as it was legal for him to find a part-time job. He hasn’t accounted for a visit from a ghost. </p><p>Part of Taeyong wants to run for his bike and book it. He feels a pit growing in his stomach. Still, another part of him needs to cross the space between the bike racks and the car his dad waits beside. And so Taeyong does. </p><p>“Dad,” Taeyong says.  </p><p>His dad’s smile looks like a grimace. </p><p>“Yong-ah,” his dad says. “You’re so big.” </p><p>In truth, Taeyong is slight and narrow for most boys his age. Mark, at twelve, reaches his shoulders easily when they stand side by side. </p><p>Taeyong waits. </p><p>“This is for you,” his dad juts the box out at him.</p><p>From up close, Taeyong recognizes it as a shoe box. </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“Yong-ah, I’m moving.”</p><p>“New job?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s a promotion,” Taeyong’s dad says, “and I’ve met someone.”</p><p>A beat. </p><p>“You’re going to be big brother.”</p><p>Taeyong stares. </p><p>“I’m already a big brother,” Taeyong says. <em> Remember Markie? </em> </p><p>His dad flinches. </p><p>“Don’t do that.”</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“You’re as spiteful as she is. I came here to tell you good news and you want to make me feel guilty.”</p><p>It’s like he pulls the plug from a drain. All Taeyong’s fluttering feelings are perfunctorily sucked away.  </p><p>“I want you to feel <em> anything at all </em>,” Taeyong’s voice sounds strange and far away. His blood rushes and echoes in his ears. “You haven’t spoken to us in years.” </p><p>“I know,” his dad’s voice cracks slightly, “but I’m here now.”</p><p>“To tell me you’re leaving,” Taeyong warbles slightly, “<em> again </em>.” </p><p>“We can call each other.” </p><p>“Can we?” </p><p>“Yes, Yong-ah. I never told you to stay away from me!” </p><p>“No, you just ran away.” </p><p>“Is that what she told you?”</p><p>“That’s what I know! You never called us. You never came back. And now, you’ve got a baby on the way with someone I’ve never met.” </p><p>“It’s my life, Yong-ah, I don’t need your permission to live it.”</p><p>Taeyong takes his father in for a moment. He sees the set of his shoulders, the way his chin juts out, just like Taeyong when he’s angry. </p><p>“No, you just want me to say it’s okay that you left me and Mark.”</p><p>His dad huffs a humorless laugh, drags a hand through his hair, says, “We’re just alike you and me...we burn everything down in anger.”</p><p>His eyes are glossy as he looks at Taeyong, but he doesn’t say anything else. Turns and slips into his car. </p><p>“Happy early birthday, Yong-ah,” his dad says from inside. “I’m sorry.” </p><p>Taeyong watches the car slip away and is late to work. </p><p>The shoebox stays unopened first under Taeyong’s bed in his shared childhood room with Mark and then in the back of his closet in his shabby apartment. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Doyoung’s mom has a voice as syrupy as honey, but a way of talking that could tongue-tie the slickest elected official. Taeyong is sitting at Doyoung’s counter picking idly at the remains of dinner one evening when Doyoung shakes one hand free of soapy dishwater to answer a call. </p><p>“Sweetie,” croons a light, buoyant voice. “Did you eat dinner yet?”</p><p>“Mmm,” Doyoung hums in agreement. “I had some of the food you sent over with hyung. It was good.” </p><p>“Did you share it with someone?”</p><p>Doyoung freezes, “What did hyungie say?”</p><p>“Just that he caught a glimpse of another pair of shoes in your apartment. And someone you keep texting. Apparently, you told Jiyongie you have a new friend.” </p><p>“What a family of gossips,” Doyoung huffs as he turns away from the sink. He dries his hands on a towel and drops down onto the seat opposite Taeyong. </p><p>“Doyoung.”</p><p>“Mom.”</p><p>An impatient click down the line. </p><p>“Why don’t you talk to him yourself?”</p><p>Taeyong cuts his eyes at Doyoung. </p><p>“Am I on speaker phone?” </p><p>“You speak too loudly to talk to you any other way.”</p><p>“Brat.” </p><p>“Mmm, I get it from you.” </p><p>Her laugh comes through in staccato waves much like Doyoung’s own. </p><p>“Hi,” Taeyong offers shyly as Doyoung turns to finish drying off the last few dishes. “I’m Taeyong.”</p><p>“Hello Taeyong-ah,” comes the reply. “Has Doyoung been treating you nicely?”</p><p>Taeyong hums, takes in the strange tension in Doyoung’s spine, and says, “Not especially, but I like him a lot so I put up with it.” </p><p>The peal of laughter that Doyoung’s mom lets out sends a spark of warmth down into his gut and he feels a smile pulling at his own lips as Doyoung turns over his shoulder to send Taeyong an over the top frown. </p><p>Taeyong watches him turn away and is so caught up in watching the corners of Doyoung’s mouth curl up faintly that he almost misses the reply. </p><p>“Sounds like him. Doyoungie’s been grumpy for almost thirty years. Please be understanding.” </p><p>“He brightens up a little at meal times,” Taeyong teases. Then, sincerely, “You’ve raised someone very kind. Warm.” </p><p>Taeyong looks away down at the counter. He traces his finger over the swirling granite pattern. </p><p>“Sounds like you’ve gotten to know him quite well,” Doyoung’s mom hums. “I’m glad. Our Doyoungie can be terribly private. I worry sometimes that he’s lonely.” </p><p>“Not anymore,” Taeyong says. “I make sure to bother him a lot.” </p><p>Another laugh, “Good. He’s always holing up in his room or some dark gallery. He needs someone to poke their head in sometimes and drag him into the sunshine.” </p><p>“House plant-youngie,” Taeyong agrees. </p><p>Taeyong hears her laugh reverberate through the kitchen again before Doyoung cuts in, “Okay, enough of that. You two will become pen pals if I don’t cut this off.” </p><p>“Doyoungie, I know how to text,” says his mom. </p><p>“Ask him for my number,” says Taeyong before he can stop himself. Think too much. What is he doing? There’s so much he and Doyoung haven’t talked about. </p><p>Still, judging by the way Doyoung’s mouth turns up, Taeyong figures he hasn’t crossed any lines yet. </p><p>They end the phone call after a few more jabs between mother and son. By the end, Doyoung’s expression is an endearing mixture of fond and confused. </p><p>“Well, that can of worms is opened,” Doyoung huffs. “I should warn you that my brother is sort of a second mom. You two might end up meeting sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Taeyong hums, rising from his seat and padding over to Doyoung to wrap him in a hug. “Is he handsome?” </p><p>A bark of laughter escapes Doyoung and he looks at Taeyong with affection and disbelief. Taeyong’s stomach swoops and he presses his face into Doyoung’s neck. </p><p>“Very,” Doyoung answers eventually, words puffing up strands of Taeyong’s hair as Doyoung rests his cheek against Taeyong’s head. “Maybe even more than me.”</p><p><em> Unlikely </em> Taeyong wants to say, but what comes out is, “Perfect.” </p><p>It’s the same joke, but Doyoung laughs loud like it’s the first time he’s heard it and Taeyong wants to run out of the apartment as much as he wants to squeeze Doyoung tighter. Taeyong breathes, feels Doyoung’s palm big and wide against his back, and does the latter. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t get close enough to him,” Taeyong says. “He might be on the sofa close enough for me to feel his heat and I want to crawl over him and live there.” </p><p>Taeil pencil flows over his notepad like he’s doodling something, but Taeyong doesn’t take offense. Taeyong likes the impression that Taeil isn’t listening too closely when he says embarrassing things. </p><p>Besides, Taeyong suspects the ebb and flow of visible attention is a ruse devised by Taeil to treat Taeyong to a sense of distance when he feels particularly brittle. </p><p>“Do you feel he distances himself from you?”</p><p>Case in point. </p><p>“It’s strange,” Taeyong says. “He’s the most honest person I know. He has a rule. We say what we want out loud. He hates games.”</p><p>A pause. </p><p>“But, if I don’t ask, he rarely discloses,” Taeyong picks at the arm of his chair. “I don’t think he means...no, he does mean to be private.” </p><p>Taeil looks up at him then. </p><p>“I think he doesn’t know it hurts me,” Taeyong frowns. “That feels a little dramatic.” </p><p>“Is it true?” Taeil prompts. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Then, it’s not. Your feelings don’t have to be rational. They just are.” </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>“You’re worried that he doesn’t disclose a lot of information about himself. Do you disclose a lot to him?” </p><p>Taeyong frowns. </p><p>“Sometimes. He knows that I like my current job more than I’ve liked any other. That I’ve started taking some art classes at the local university. He knows I haven’t spoken to Mark in a while.” </p><p>“Does he know why you haven’t spoken to Mark?” </p><p>“No. I-I haven’t told him about any of that.” </p><p>“You’re not required to tell him everything about you,” Taeil says, “at once or at all really. It’s normal to not want to make yourself too vulnerable in the early stages of a relationship.”</p><p>“I know, but I hate this feeling.”</p><p>“What feeling?”</p><p>“That he’s just out of reach. Like he’s walking past me and I reach out my hand but I can’t touch him. I want to be closer.”</p><p>“Relationships are give and take. You can’t take what he isn’t offering up.”</p><p>“I know that.” </p><p>“But you’re allowed to ask. Ask him about the things you’re curious about. Ask for the kinds of intimacy you want.” </p><p>“Ask.”</p><p>“Yeah, ask him. He might be uncomfortable with some questions, might say no, but he shouldn’t begrudge you trying to build this kind of intimacy.” </p><p>“Won’t it be strange?”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t recommend composing a hundred question survey about his life and his emotions. Go slow. You want to be close, but it’s like...I don’t know, cats. If you run towards one the first time you see it, they’ll run away. Scared.”</p><p>“Are you saying he’s afraid of intimacy?”</p><p>“I’m saying most people don’t respond well to an influx of very personal questions, but good news is: you’re not a stranger, you’ve built a degree of trust, and based on what you’ve told me, he seems willing to communicate.” </p><p>“Okay,” Taeyong digests. “Now give me the hard ball you’ve been waiting on.” </p><p>Taeil smiles faintly. </p><p>“Do you want to get as close to Doyoung as possible because you care about him and that relationship? Or is your desire to keep someone else from leaving?” </p><p>A breath. </p><p>“I’d hate you if I hadn’t been wondering the same thing,” Taeyong exhales. </p><p>Taeil waits. </p><p>“I thought about it the first time I met him. Was I only doing this because I wanted to feel wanted? These days, I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s just him. I think I really like him a lot even as I worry if I have other motivations.” </p><p>“But he doesn’t look at me like a thing,” Taeyong says. </p><p>He’s told Taeil before about the way previous partners’ eyes had skimmed over Taeyong’s body, the way they’d held too tightly around his wrists, looked past him at times. </p><p>“That very first night he saw me as a person. An ugly person even. Calculating,” Taeyong says. “Told me to stop acting and say what I wanted.” </p><p>“That must’ve been shocking.”</p><p>“It was fun,” Taeyong smiles, “like when someone tags you on the playground. ‘You’re it.’ It was like he was telling me I didn’t have to pretend to be soft and stupid. He was so intense that it didn’t matter if I was, too.” </p><p>“Did other people make you feel like you were too intense?” Taeil hooks in. </p><p>“All the time.” </p><p>A soft chime cuts in. </p><p>“Next time,” Taeil promises. </p><p>He jots something down. </p><p>Taeyong tries not to feel like he is fleeing as he leaves the office. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong tries hard to think of an easy and casual way of pulling Doyoung closer, but it feels like trying to trick himself. Doyoung and he are too alike for him to start breaking the quiet of their lazy evenings with questions about his childhood and his ambitions. He’d be made in an instant.</p><p>In the end, Taeyong figures he just has to be honest. He has to ask for what he wants. The thought of it twists at his stomach even as he reminds himself that there’s nothing strange about what he wants. </p><p>Still, what could one say to a forthright <em> I want to know you. </em> </p><p>Taeyong thinks on it and decides he’ll say it in actions. And so he lingers on one rare Saturday morning off. </p><p>“Hyung and Jiyongie will be here in a bit,” Doyoung tells him after watering the houseplants.</p><p>Taeyong knows. He’s been waiting for the bimonthly date night to hit ever since that conversation with Doyoung’s mom. One weekend had passed with Taeyong working, but now, he finally had the day off to meet arguably the most important person in Doyoung’s life. </p><p>“Should we make Jiyongie a snack?” asks Taeyong glancing at the clock. “It’s mid-morning.” </p><p>“Hyung will have packed one for him,” Doyoung says, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “It’ll tide him over until lunch.” </p><p>“Are you making lunch?”</p><p>“Mm,” Doyoung considers. “Yeah. I’ve got some stuff for kimbap. Should we have a picnic? The three of us?”</p><p>Taeyong’s on Doyoung in a flash and Doyoung <em> oofs </em> at the tight hug he’s pulled into, but, bless him, doesn’t comment on it. Instead, Doyoung wraps Taeyong up and starts swaying them side to side when it doesn’t seem Taeyong has any intention of letting up. </p><p>They’re still like that when an enthusiastic door bell ring pierces the quiet of the apartment. Taeyong clings to Doyoung as they shuffle to the buzz in the visitors and is rewarded with Doyoung’s reluctant puff of laughter. </p><p>“You should let go soon before you accidentally pick a fight with Jiyongie,” Doyoung says. </p><p>“Oh, my God,” Taeyong murmurs. “Are you Jiyongie’s favorite?”</p><p>“I’m everyone’s favorite,” Doyoung deadpans as the sound of a key turning in its lock echoes out into the apartment. </p><p>Taeyong dislodges himself and watches Doyoung step forward into the entryway to meet a tiny whirling mass of shiny black hair and sparkly black eyes. </p><p>“Yong-ah,” Doyoung coos. </p><p>A sledgehammer to Taeyong’s ribs. </p><p>“Youngie,” Jiyong grins, tiny hands gripping Doyoung’s pant leg before Doyoung bends and hefts the boy up. </p><p>“Jiyong, you have to take your shoes off,” calls a voice from the front door.</p><p>Doyoung laughs, “You were outpaced by a five year old, hyung?”</p><p>Over Doyoung’s shoulder, Jiyong finally spots Taeyong. </p><p>“Who’s that?” </p><p>“Hi,” Taeyong waves. “I’m Taeyong. Doyoungie’s friend.”</p><p>“Your boyfriend?” Jiyong’s squints as he looks between his uncle and Taeyong. </p><p>Doyoung huffs, “Where’d you learn that?” </p><p>“I’m not a baby. I’ve got a boyfriend, too.” </p><p>Doyoung blinks, “Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah, me and Jamie share snacks every day at lunch.” </p><p>“Is that what boyfriends do?”</p><p>“Oi, what’s this conversation?” asks Doyoung’s brother stepping one star patterned socked foot out into the living room and then the other. </p><p>He’s tall — taller than Doyoung — and broader, too. His hair is dyed a warm medium brown and he wears his a little longer and shaggier than his little brother. When he sets down the cartoon themed backpack and the milk crate filled with tupperware he’d held clutched to his chest and looks up, Taeyong understands what Doyoung meant those weeks ago. </p><p>Doyoung’s brother is the more conventionally handsome of the two. He’s strapping and golden where Doyoung is more lanky and pale. </p><p>Still, Taeyong thinks, as he watches Doyoung’s brother raise a playful eyebrow at Doyoung before extending his hand to Taeyong, Doyoung’s his favorite Kim brother. </p><p>“I’m Gongmyung.”</p><p>“Taeyong. It’s nice to finally meet you.” </p><p>“Same here. Mom’s in love with you.” </p><p>Taeyong snorts, “Honestly, same.”</p><p>Gongmyung grins, “It’s the side dishes, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yes, but also the way she chewed Doyoungie out for not introducing me sooner.”</p><p>Doyoung sucks his teeth at him. </p><p>“Dad!” cries Jiyong. “Dad! I want my apple slices.”</p><p>Gongmyung eyes his toddler. </p><p>“You snacked in the car. You’re hungry again?”</p><p>Jiyong squints at Taeyong. It seems clear what the little boy is after. </p><p>“Ah,” Gongmyung nods, “do you want to talk to Taeyong?” </p><p>Jiyong’s brows furrow and Taeyong bites back a smile. </p><p>“Apple slices,” Jiyong enunciates. </p><p>Gongmyung’s eyebrows rise and he holds his hands up in surrender before trudging over to the backpack for the ziploc bag of cut fruit. </p><p>Doyoung sets Jiyong down on the floor by the coffee table, a pillow under his butt, and Gongmyung sets the snack down in front of him. </p><p>Surrounded by his father and uncle, Jiyong sends an imperious look at Taeyong as if to say <em> see, I won, they’re mine </em>.</p><p>Taeyong dips his head in acknowledgement and Jiyong, opening his mouth to accept an apple slice from a doting Doyoung, stares. </p><p>A beat and then, “Taeyongie wants an apple slice.”</p><p>It’s not a question and Taeyong’s not particularly hungry, but recognizes a peace offering when he sees one. </p><p>Padding over and crouching down beside the Kim boys, Taeyong accepts one of Jiyong’s apple slices too bewildered by how Gongmyung’s son is a lethal replica of Doyoung to note the amused expression the two brothers share behind him. </p><p>By the time Gongmyung leaves, after slipping the tupperware — labeled with the curly handwriting Taeyong’s come to recognize as Doyoung’s mom’s — into the refrigerator and giving a whiny Jiyong no less than five smooches, Taeyong has a new contact saved in his phone with the instruction to text about embarrassing Doyoung stories whenever he wants. </p><p>Doyoung all but closes the door in Gongmyung’s face before turning to Taeyong with a stern look. </p><p>Jiyong giggles, “One time, Youngie lost an eyebrow.”</p><p>Taeyong’s eyes dart to Doyoung as flush overtakes his face. </p><p>“Oh yeah?” prompts Taeyong. </p><p>“Grandma has a picture,” Jiyong says watching with delighted eyes as Doyoung creeps towards him, hands curled into perfect tickling claws. “He was trying to shave like Grandpa!” </p><p>Taeyong watches Jiyong dissolve into giggles, rolling around the floor, as Doyoung digs his fingers into his sides.</p><p>“What else?” Taeyong asks as he grabs Doyoung’s hands and locks his arms and legs around him in a bind.</p><p>Jiyong darts up and wiggles around in barely constrained delight. </p><p>“He ate daddy’s whole birthday cake once!”</p><p>It figures, Taeyong thinks, that Jiyong and he would bond over embarrassing Doyoung. </p><p>“Teasing is a family trait, huh,” Taeyong says into Doyoung’s ear and feels him slump into Taeyong’s hold as laughter overcomes him. </p><p>Later, when Taeyong is home, not having wanted to interrupt Doyoung’s and Jiyong’s sleepover tradition, Doyoung texts him a picture from their afternoon picnic. </p><p>It’s a selfie Doyoung took. Doyoung’s sat on a blanket, legs wide as Taeyong flops heavily back into his chest, while Jiyong stands at their side with small arms wrapped around Doyoung’s neck as he smushes their cheeks together.</p><p>Taeyong snickers at the half fond half pained expression on Doyoung’s face and sends back a sleepy voice message before he can think too much about it: <em> we look cute. Thank you for letting baby meet your other baby. Good night, Doyoungie.  </em></p><p>Taeyong is almost asleep when he feels the buzz of a text notification. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>doyoungie [10:50 PM]:</strong> gross.  </p>
  <p><strong>doyoungie [10:50 PM]:</strong> you’re welcome. sleep well, taeyongie~</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Taeyong curls over, tucking a smile into his shoulder, and thumbs his phone into do not disturb mode before closing his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Like meeting Gongmyung and Jiyong pulls a lever, Doyoung becomes not exactly a fountain of stories or confessions, but warmer. </p><p>Taeyong frowns when he tries to explain it to Jungwoo one day on their break. </p><p>“It’s not like he was cold exactly,” Taeyong says. “The way he carries himself can come off a little aloof sometimes, but he cares. He just shows it in actions mostly. He prizes honesty when he talks, but he doesn’t always talk.”</p><p>“Seems like he’s gotten good at withholding even while telling the truth,” Jungwoo remarks around between mouthfuls of his lunch. “Might be a defense mechanism.” </p><p>“Yeah, it feels like he’s doing that less, I guess,” Taeyong hums. “Like he doesn’t have to be on guard with me as much anymore and I really fucking love that.” </p><p>Jungwoo smiles, tongue between his teeth, “You’re very soft guy after all, hyung.” </p><p>“After all?” Taeyong sucks his teeth. </p><p>“Just,” Jungwoo gestures at Taeyong vaguely, “when you first came in for your interview, me and the others thought you might be a very cool guy. Aloof. Like you describe your man.”</p><p>Taeyong flushes. </p><p>“But you’re actually a lot more, I dunno, soft-hearted,” Jungwoo shrugs, “even though you’re a shark about taking the cool assignments now. It’s all, oh, Kyungsoo-hyung, what if I interviewed this super cool performance artist for our website? Oh no, maybe I’ll just spearhead an entire podcast interview series for the gallery?” </p><p>Taeyong wheezes, “It’s not - I’m —” </p><p>Jungwoo grins impishly, “It’s okay, hyungie, sometimes you’ve got to be a little calculating at work. I’d probably throw you under the bus to interview Lee Taemin, too.” </p><p>They stare at each other for a long while before bursting into laughter. </p><p>“Well, you can’t,” Taeyong shrugs, arms turned up, as he lets a hateful smile slip across his face, “That’s mine now.” </p><p>The cackle Jungwoo lets out draws a broader smile out of Taeyong. </p><p>When Jungwoo and the others invite him out for drinks at the end of the day, Taeyong agrees easily and sends Doyoung a text with the bar’s address. </p><p>Taeyong’s trying to pry the fry basket away from Jungwoo’s vice grip when he feels a familiar warmth drape over him. </p><p>“Hey,” Doyoung says. </p><p>“Hi,” Taeyong says absentmindedly as he finally frees the fries from an openmouthed Jungwoo. </p><p>“This is so unfair!” Jungwoo moans. “Your man is Hot Wednesday Regular?” </p><p>“Decorum,” Renjun intones into his beer glass. </p><p>“Chaos,” supplies Sicheng uselessly as he steals a few fries from around Taeyong’s hands. </p><p>Doyoung, for his part, dips his head, “Ah, you know my birth name.” </p><p>Taeyong snorts around his hard earned mouthful of fries. </p><p>“He has a sense of humor, too?” Jungwoo cries. “I’ve had enough. I’m getting more beer.” </p><p>“Don’t get that shitty shandy that’s on tap!” Renjun calls after him. </p><p>Jungwoo raises a hand like he’s heard the request. </p><p>“He’s gonna get the shitty shandy,” Sicheng points out. </p><p>“I know,” Renjun sighs. “He’d be more hateful if he didn’t look like a children’s show character.” </p><p>Taeyong feels more than hears Doyoung’s laughter over his shoulder. </p><p>“French fry Gremlin, please introduce us,” Doyoung pokes at him. </p><p>Taeyong rolls his eyes like it’s a big ordeal, “This is Doyoung. Doyoung, that’s Renjun.”</p><p>Renjun raises a hand.</p><p>“And Sicheng.” </p><p>Sicheng waves a french fry. </p><p>“And the hot mess who is definitely going to order the worst beer you’ve ever had is Jungwoo,” Renjun supplies. </p><p>“The worst beer?” Doyoung prompts. </p><p>Renjun rattles off his Big List of shitty beer criteria and Taeyong slips his hand into Doyoung’s. </p><p>Doyoung laces their fingers under the table and Taeyong refrains from smiling stupidly into his own beer glass. </p><p>When Jungwoo returns, he has an icy pitcher of the shitty shandy to no one’s surprise and announces he’s placed another order of french fries. </p><p>Doyoung takes a sip of the glass he’s poured and grimaces, “This is really gross. Shit. You weren’t kidding.” </p><p>“I don’t kid about food and drink,” Renjun says. </p><p>“Are you picking a fight with me?” asks Jungwoo widening his eyes. </p><p>Doyoung’s own narrow, “If I was, you’d lose.” </p><p>And as easily as he’d slipped into letting Renjun chat and giving Sicheng space while occasionally looping him into the conversation, Doyoung pulls out the latent chaos inside Jungwoo that usually takes a few days to make itself known around new people. </p><p>When in the middle of bickering over what bar food to order next, Jungwoo snatches the laminated menu from Doyoung and sucks his teeth to simper, “Listen to mommy,” Doyoung dissolves into deep incredulous laughter. </p><p>Taeyong watches the exchange with tears in his eyes and isn’t surprised when, as they all part ways at the end of the night, Jungwoo and Doyoung exchange social media handles. </p><p>Hooking his arm in Doyoung’s and pressing up on his toes to accept a quick goodbye smooch from Jungwoo outside the bar, Taeyong is sure it isn’t just the beer warming him from the inside out. </p><p>Doyoung is slipping his shoes off in the entryway of Taeyong’s apartment as his hands slide up under Taeyong’s sweater when Taeyong feels a hapless giggle escape him. </p><p>Lips against Taeyong’s neck, Doyoung pauses and says, “Should I be offended?” </p><p>Another puff of laughter. </p><p>“No, I just,” Taeyong says as he reaches down to cup Doyoung’s face in his hands, “I’m really happy.” </p><p>A slow syrupy smile creases and crinkles Doyoung’s face. </p><p>“Good,” he says into Taeyong’s mouth. “I want you to be happy.” </p><p>If Taeyong clutches Doyoung too tightly that night as they sigh and curl against each other, Doyoung is kind enough to accept it without comment. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>The letter is addressed from a city just two hours away by car. When Taeyong shuffles it to the front of the stack of mail he’s finally gotten around to liberating from the mailbox after a slew of days spent at Doyoung’s place, he almost drops it. </p><p>Taeyong traces over the scratchy handwriting he remembers from childhood. Recalls a tiny Taeyong peering over his father’s shoulder as his father wrote checks for household bills and mailed packages to the wizened old grandmother Taeyong saw on monthly visits to the tiny house thirty minutes away. </p><p>Huddled in the entryway of his apartment, Taeyong tears through the envelope with a finger and pulls out a thrice folded paper. </p><p><em> Yong-ah </em>, he reads, and then folds the paper closed. </p><p>Taeyong takes a breath, kicks off the slides he wore downstairs to check the mail, and pads into the tiny living room. He sets the letter on the arm of the secondhand recliner he’d picked out of a garage sale years ago. </p><p>He wants to call his mom or Doyoung, but he feels like he might cry if he heard their voices and he doesn’t want to worry them. </p><p>A quick glance at the clock above his rickety kitchen table reveals it’s almost two. <em> Lunch </em> , thinks Taeyong as he rises from the recliner and opens his refrigerator, <em> and then I’ll read the letter. </em> </p><p>Taeyong manages to make a grilled cheese and eat half of it before his stomach’s twisting and turning drags him back to the letter. </p><p><em> Yong-ah </em> , Taeyong traces the letters as he reads, <em> How are you? You’re twenty-six now </em>. The words have strange indents running through them like Taeyong’s dad had written and erased and rewritten before settling on the sentences Taeyong’s now reading. </p><p><em> I know it’s been a long time. And I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you sooner. Honestly, I was scared. </em> The word scared is written roughly, slightly darker than the rest of the sentence like the paper beneath it had grown tough from too much erasing and writing it legibly had taken effort. </p><p><em> The last time we saw each other. I’m not proud of how I acted. I think I really hurt you, Yong-ah — </em> Taeyong’s hands tremble — <em> and I couldn’t say sorry. Not really. See, I was embarrassed. I’d made such a mess of things.  </em></p><p>
  <em> And I thought, after leaving, that I should give you space. Not bother you if you weren’t ready to talk to me. But I made things worse, didn’t I? Gave you my number and waited on you to do all the work.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Maybe you thought I didn’t care. Maybe everything I did made you think I didn’t love you and Mark. That’s not true.  </em>
</p><p>Taeyong feels his breath draw in, shuddery and wet, and scrubs a hand down his face. God, he hates this. </p><p>
  <em> Me and your mom weren’t good for each other. I understand now that a lot of that was my fault. But I never wanted you and Mark to think that I didn’t love you. I was just afraid to face you both. And that’s my fault.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know it’s late, but I love you, Yong-ah. I’m so sorry I hurt you and made you doubt that. I’ve written Mark, too, and I hope that you both could maybe visit me sometime.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ve missed you both. And I’d love for you to meet your littlest brother and his mom. I want to be part of your life again, Yong-ah.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Dad. </em>
</p><p>Taeyong swipes an arm over his face, rubbing the heels of his palm into puffy eyes, and exhales slowly. </p><p>He inhales deeply and on the exhale, folds up the letter, tucks it back into the envelope, and slides it under the big hardcover book he borrowed from the gallery library on Lee Taemin’s work on his kitchen table. </p><p>Out of sight, Taeyong takes another shaky breath, out of mind.</p><p> </p><p>The letter lurks at the back of Taeyong’s thoughts most days, following him through every easy greeting he offers gallery visitors or every bit of research he does for his upcoming interview with Lee Taemin, but Doyoung’s steady warmth and increasing openness helps distract Taeyong from it. </p><p>“My friend Yuta is hosting a party to celebrate a work friend’s promotion,” Doyoung explains over video call as he combs his fingers through an unusually low energy Jiyong’s fringe.</p><p>The little boy is tucked close against Doyoung as they sit on the sectional that takes up the lion’s share of Doyoung’s living room. Jiyong’s eyes toggle between the movie on tv — <em> Moana </em>by the sound of it — and Taeyong’s face on his uncle’s phone. </p><p>After a brief chirp <em> hello </em> coaxed out of Jiyong by Doyoung at the start of the call, Jiyong remained quiet. <em> Sick, </em> Doyoung had explained after, <em> recovering from a bug going around the kindergarten, but not even a snotty nose could keep him from storming my house this weekend. </em></p><p>Now, Jiyong’s head perks up slightly under his uncle’s hand, “Party?” </p><p>“Not for you, brat,” Doyoung huffs. </p><p>Taeyong swallows a laugh knowing that while Jiyong loves teasing and pranking others, he hasn’t yet developed patience for people laughing at him. </p><p>Jiyong harrumphs but settles back into watching <em> Moana </em> without further comment. </p><p>“Would you come with me?” Doyoung continues. </p><p>“Will you wear that one shirt?” Taeyong teases. </p><p>Doyoung cuts his eyes at him, “Maybe.” </p><p>“Well, with a promise like that…” </p><p>Doyoung makes as if to end the call and Taeyong relents, “Yes, okay!” </p><p>“Good,” Doyoung sighs, “the only people I really know there will be Yuta and his partners. I refuse to talk to them the entire night.” </p><p>Taeyong laughs, “You could try making new friends?” </p><p>Doyoung shakes his head, “I have too many overbearing people in my life. I don’t need more friends. I need disciples.” </p><p>“Tell me you don’t go around saying that aloud.” </p><p>“Why? Does it make me sound too much like a charming cult leader?” </p><p>“Charming?” </p><p>They exchange deadpan expressions before Taeyong breaks. </p><p>“You’re the worst,” Taeyong laughs. </p><p>“Be my hostage for the party, Taeyongie,” Doyoung wheedles. </p><p>“I already agreed, you megalomaniac.” </p><p>“No take backs,” Doyoung says. “It’s Saturday at eight. I’ll pick you up. We’ll do a good showing and leave by nine.” </p><p>“You’re so antisocial!” </p><p>“Hello, kettle.” </p><p>Taeyong squawks into the phone. </p><p>“Tae,” Jiyong whines, “you’re being too loud.” </p><p><em> Yeah, you’re being too loud </em>, Doyoung’s eyes seem to say as they dance mockingly. </p><p>Taeyong does not laugh as he murmurs an apology to Jiyong for talking over <em> Moana. </em> He stays on the line long enough to see Jiyong conk out on Doyoung’s shoulder before wishing uncle and nephew a soft goodnight. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s just pulling the zippers up on his boots when the buzzer rings through the apartment. Pulling the strap of his belt bag over his shoulder, Taeyong hurries down to meet Doyoung outside. </p><p>Feeling a little harried, Taeyong hums an absentminded greeting as he steps onto the sidewalk outside and then lets out an <em> oomph </em> as he finds himself kissed within an inch of his life. </p><p>“Mmm,” Taeyong says as Doyoung pulls away to look at him again. “You good?” </p><p>Blinking, Doyoung lets out a breath that ruffles his dark bangs. </p><p>“You look really good,” Doyoung complains. “Like, you always do, but when you look like this, it’s a lot.” </p><p>Taeyong knows the cut of his short sleeve button down draws attention to the length of his neck and the breadth of his shoulders. Taeyong knows he’s handsome even when he doesn’t dress to emphasize it like he has tonight. </p><p>Still, it’s a rush to have Doyoung, who unlike past partners, rarely compliments Taeyong’s appearance comment on it. </p><p>“You like it that much?” Doyoung notes as Taeyong flushes. He draws Taeyong close for a second. “Should I tell you how pretty you look when you meet me after work?”</p><p>“After work?” Taeyong huffs into Doyoung’s neck. </p><p>“After work,” Doyoung nods. “You look so happy to see me. Go all boneless when you hug me. The prettiest.” </p><p>Taeyong squeezes him. </p><p>“But then you wear something like this,” Doyoung says, leaning back and bringing one hand to cup Taeyong’s neck lightly, touching the delicate chain necklace resting there, “and you look imperious. Like a prince.” </p><p><em> Aloof </em>, Taeyong’s brain supplies in Jungwoo’s words. </p><p>“Which do you like more?” </p><p>“I like it all, Taeyongie.” </p><p>Taeyong squeezes again. </p><p>“Except when you squeeze the life out of me,” Doyoung coughs. </p><p>Snickering, Taeyong eases up and says, “Let’s get out of here before I drag you upstairs.” </p><p>“Oh, no,” Doyoung deadpans. </p><p>Shoving him away, Taeyong starts walking towards the subway and calls back behind him, “C’mon, let’s not keep Yuta waiting. We can’t have your friends badmouthing me on our first meeting.” </p><p>When Doyoung catches up, he throws an arm over Taeyong’s shoulders and bumps their hips, “He would never. You’re too endearing.” </p><p>Taeyong preens. </p><p>“Besides, Yuta is literally the worst person I know. No room for judgment.” </p><p> </p><p>Yuta, Taeyong learns over the fifteen minute subway ride to the party, is a translator for some education oriented publishing company. He’s originally from Osaka and had gone first to an international high school in Tokyo before enrolling in the languages program at Doyoung’s university. </p><p>Yuta is in Doyoung’s brief explanation, as they exit the station and walk the remaining five minutes to Yuta’s building, “An instigator.”</p><p>“He picks fights?” Taeyong asks as they move past the broken elevator to hoof up the stairs to Yuta’s apartment. </p><p>Doyoung’s brows furrow as he thinks, “More like he gets things happening. He’s observant. Creepily so. You know him for a week and suddenly he unearths some weird childhood trauma you didn’t realized you buried. He’s very non-judgmental, but also very indelicate.” </p><p>Taeyong stares. </p><p>“Don’t worry,” Doyoung huffs as they reach the third floor landing. “He only picks at people he knows well. He’s horrific to me, but very sweet to acquaintances.” </p><p>“Oh, well, if that’s all,” Taeyong huffs as they walk to the door polluting the hallway with the steady thump of bass. </p><p>He knocks on the door before Doyoung turns the knob and lets them in. </p><p>“Must have a nice gig,” Taeyong remarks as he takes in the surprising expanse of Yuta’s apartment. </p><p>“I’ve never met someone more upfront about negotiating regular salary raises,” Doyoung replies. “Drinks?” </p><p>Taeyong nods and follows Doyoung through a throng of casual party-goers passing around a blunt at the mouth of Yuta’s apartment to a kitchen tucked off to the side where they stumble upon two guys entangled and pressed up against the island counter. </p><p>“Right in front of my salad,” Doyoung says. </p><p>Taeyong has a moment to gawk — he hadn’t pegged Doyoung as a meme quoter — before the smaller of the two guys laughs and pulls back to look at Doyoung. </p><p>“Learn new memes, you old fart,” he says. </p><p>Taeyong supposes this is Yuta and takes in the longish red hair pulled up into a tiny half ponytail. He has a moment to wonder what kind of stuff Yuta regularly puts his HR office through at work for his fashion sense before Doyoung’s hand circles his wrist and tugs him closer. </p><p>“Taeyong, this wretch is Yuta,” Doyoung gestures and then adds, head tilting towards the taller guy, “That’s —” </p><p>“Mark,” Taeyong finishes gawking at his little brother. </p><p>“Oh shit,” Yuta breathes, “Don’t tell me Doyoung’s Taeyong is your Taeyong.”</p><p>Mark opens and closes his mouth and then blurts out, “I didn’t know Doyoung had any Taeyong. You just said he was seeing someone.” </p><p>Doyoung slots his and Taeyong’s fingers together and raises an eyebrow when Taeyong finally meets his gaze. </p><p>“Mark’s my brother,” Taeyong explains. </p><p>“The reason One Punch Taeyong was born?” </p><p>It startles a laugh out of Taeyong. </p><p>“Oh, my God, why would you tell him that story?” Mark whines. </p><p>“Because it’s funny,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“Hilarious,” confirms Doyoung. Then, in an aside to Yuta, “Picture this. Mark accidentally picks a fight with a high schooler and scrawny little Taeyong, already shorter than his little brother, has to settle it outside the school.” </p><p>“No offense,” Yuta eyes Taeyong, “but how did you settle it?”</p><p>Doyoung snorts. </p><p>“No offense taken,” Taeyong sighs. “I socked the guy while he was laughing at Mark for calling his ‘older sister.’ Knocked him out with a move I learned in the self-defense classes I used to take with my mom. Told him big sis was mad.” </p><p>Yuta’s ensuing cackle echoes through the kitchen. </p><p>“Here,” he manages between chuckles, pouring a cup full of pink punch, “punch for One Punch Taeyong. Thank you for keeping this helpless kid alive this long.”</p><p>Yuta pats Mark with one hand as he hands Taeyong the cup with the other. </p><p>“Thanks,” Taeyong takes it, “but aside from occasionally putting his foot in his mouth, Markie’s not the worst little brother.”</p><p>Mark glances at him.  </p><p>“That title goes to Doyoung,” Yuta agrees. </p><p>“I don’t know how Gongmyung puts up with him,” Taeyong hums into his cup. </p><p>The punch goes down surprisingly smooth in spite of all the handles of alcohol surrounding the punch bowl on the counter. </p><p>Doyoung rolls his eyes. </p><p>“You two are getting along too well,” Doyoung sighs as he pulls a cup off the tower and pours himself some punch, too. </p><p>Yuta flashes a cheerful peace sign. </p><p>“It’s because I’m so loveable,” he grins. </p><p>“That’s not what I’d call it,” Doyoung says. </p><p>“No one cares, Doie.” </p><p>“No one cares about you, Yuta!” </p><p>“Okayyy,” Mark finds his voice again. “Maybe we should chill out a little bit.”</p><p>“Kid,” Doyoung says. “There is no chill to have with this brat.” </p><p>“Hyung, I’m not a kid,” Mark whines. “I’m literally twenty-one. I’m about to graduate college!” </p><p>“And it’s honestly despicable that you’re dating this gremlin,” Doyoung nods. “I don’t know what you see in him.” </p><p>“It’s my big—” Yuta starts and then, gaze landing on Taeyong for a second, seems to find a sense of propriety. “Personality.” </p><p>Doyoung snorts, “It’s over for you now, huh? Can’t be disgusting in front of a family member!” </p><p>Yuta looks tiny all of a sudden. He juts his bottom lip out for effect. </p><p>“Mark, he’s being mean to me!”</p><p>“Ah,” Mark coos. “Cute.” </p><p>“This is disgusting,” Doyoung says, “I’m gonna go see if I can steal a blunt from Yuta’s room.” He gives Taeyong’s fingers a a soft clasp before trailing out the kitchen. </p><p>It figures, thinks Taeyong, that Doyoung would read between the lines of Taeyong’s silence surrounding his little brother and the strange way neither of them had known whom their respective partners were until tonight and instead of asking questions, give them room to speak. </p><p>“I’m literally right here,” Yuta cries. </p><p>“Hurry up then before I grab the weak shit by accident,” Doyoung calls back. </p><p>Yuta gives Mark’s butt an encouraging pat before following after Doyoung with a snappy, “As if I carry any weak shit to begin with!” </p><p>Taeyong watches them dip out of view between the swaying bodies before turning to Mark. He finds him a little closer than he’d been before and jumps. </p><p>“Sorry,” Mark laughs a little before growing quiet. </p><p>“It’s fine,” Taeyong smiles. He takes another gulp of punch. “H-how’re you doing, Markie? You said you’re graduating soon. Mom mentioned it was coming up in a few months last time I called.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Mark says, wetting his lips, “I was gonna drop by your place sometime. Give you the ticket for the ceremony in person.”</p><p>A beat. </p><p>“It’s gonna be a winter ceremony. Early January. You think you can make it?” Mark asks eyes cast up and past Taeyong’s shoulder. </p><p>“Of course I can, Markie,” Taeyong whispers. “I’ll take the day off. If you want me to be there, I’ll be there.” </p><p>Mark looks at him then eyes flinty. </p><p>“Where the fuck were you then?”</p><p>The question is a knife. </p><p>Taeyong flinches, “What—” </p><p>“Where have you been? I’ve seen you twice since February,” Mark says. “Did you forget you had a brother?” </p><p>Taeyong shakes, “Mark, the last time we spoke — really spoke — you were so fucking ashamed of me...I didn’t think you wanted to see me.” </p><p>Mark hunches slightly. His fingers curl and uncurl in a nervous habit he’s had since elementary school.</p><p>“I was mad…” Mark concedes. “You’re my big brother and then I have to step in and pull you out of this mess with these two guys who’ve been nothing but nice to us —”</p><p>“Don’t say that when you don’t know what happened!” </p><p>Mark nods after a second, “You’re right. I-I spoke to Yuta after about what happened and he chewed me out for never asking for your side of things. For assuming.”</p><p>“I just — it was a shock. I knew you were struggling...but I didn’t know how much. And I didn’t know what was happening with you and them.” </p><p>Taeyong curls into himself. </p><p>“When I drove you home that night after everything — hyung, it felt like I didn’t know you at all anymore. You’d kept everything to yourself. Even before you fucked off after everything with Jaehyun, you stopped <em> talking </em>to me.” </p><p>Taeyong thinks to the long shifts he’d been taking at the big box store. The dark circles under his eyes as he tiredly FaceTimed with Mark who’d been determinedly starting his last year of undergrad double majoring in music production and business. So bright. </p><p>“I was so mad at you,” Mark admits, “I wanted to hurt you that night. And I’m sorry, hyungie.” </p><p>“Markie,” Taeyong croaks, “don’t <em> cry </em>.” </p><p>He’s got arms wrapped around Mark before he knows it. Mark squeezes him closer. </p><p>“I’m not crying,” Mark sniffs wiping at his eyes over Taeyong’s head. </p><p>Taeyong huffs. </p><p>They’re quiet as Mark gathers himself before Taeyong peers up at his little brother. </p><p>“Are you gonna be okay tonight?” asks Taeyong. </p><p>“Yeah,” Mark nods, “I’m alright.”</p><p>Then, “Are <em> you </em> gonna be alright? You tend to hold things in most of the time, hyungie.”</p><p>“Jeez, Mark,” Taeyong huffs, “tell me how you really feel.” </p><p>Mark laughs wetly. </p><p>“Well, are you?” he prompts. </p><p>“I am,” Taeyong says. “Now, stop crying. You’re gonna make me cry and I don’t want to cry in front of Doyoung. He’ll get real squirrely and start fussing.”</p><p>Mark stares, “You’ve cried in front of him before? It’s serious, huh.” </p><p>“We watched <em> Steel Magnolias</em>,” Taeyong says. “You know I get weird about—” </p><p>“ — family movies,” Mark nods. Then winces, “Did you get dad’s letter?”</p><p>“I’m not thinking about it,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“Well, that’s healthy,” Mark huffs. “Mom said you were like, seeing a therapist.”</p><p>“Tact, Markie,” Taeyong laughs humorlessly, “and I am, but healing is a marathon, not a sprint and I’m in no rush to pick at that band-aid just yet.” </p><p>“Mixed metaphors,” Mark chides. </p><p>“We’re not all lyricists, okay?” Taeyong says. “I can’t vent in extended metaphors.” </p><p>“Wow, not what I expected to come back to,” Yuta says. </p><p>Doyoung laughs. His eyes are a little red and there’s a joint between his fingertips. </p><p>“Oh, good,” Taeyong says, “you saved some for me.” </p><p>He detaches from Mark and makes grabby hands at Doyoung. </p><p>“Gimme. I’ve had a lot of feelings and the night’s barely started.” </p><p>Doyoung eyes narrow, but a small smile quirks his lips, “Ask nicely.” </p><p><em> Disgusting </em>, Taeyong hears Mark or Yuta comment, as Taeyong presses up onto his toes and smacks a noisy kiss on Doyoung’s mouth. </p><p>Smiling, Doyoung places the joint between Taeyong’s lips and drops his arms onto Taeyong’s shoulder. </p><p>“I’m starting to feel the crossfade a little,” Doyoung confides. “Wanna take advantage of this rare opportunity and dance with me?” </p><p>Taeyong looks over his shoulder at Mark. Yuta’s curled up under his chin like a cat, but Mark’s looking back at Taeyong. </p><p>“We’re good,” Mark says. “I know where you live.” </p><p><em> Don’t disappear </em> Mark doesn’t say. </p><p>“You do,” Taeyong agrees. </p><p><em> I won’t </em> Taeyong doesn’t say. </p><p>With a promise to Yuta to hang around for a while, long enough at least to say hi to Yuta’s other partner — and wow, when Doyoung mentioned <em> Yuta’s partners </em> at the beginning of the week, he’d thought it an absentminded slip of the tongue, what exactly had Mark gotten himself involved in since February — and work friends, Doyoung pulls Taeyong out of the kitchen and into the living room.</p><p>The music’s louder there and there’s already a number of people dancing. The song is a deep grooved hip hop hit Taeyong recognizes from the radio and Doyoung pulls him into a lazy motion. Taeyong could maneuver them into something more on beat, more sensuous, but he slides his palms up until they rest on Doyoung’s shoulder blades and just presses their chests together. </p><p>“Faded Doyoungie likes to dance,” Taeyong hums. </p><p>“Faded Doyoungie is another creature. He dances, only vetoes fifty percent of Yuta’s shitty ideas, and would you believe he gets even hungrier?”</p><p>“You roll into McDonald’s and clear them out?”</p><p>“You’re laughing, but the McDonald’s by our campus hated me and Yuta.”</p><p>Taeyong laughs. </p><p>“You ate that much?” </p><p>“That and we wandered in half dressed a few too many times.” </p><p>“Half dressed?”</p><p>“When you go out with Yuta, it’s very easy to lose your shirt by the end of the night. It’s why he buys me clothes for every birthday.” </p><p>“Tell me you have pictures.” </p><p>“Yuta does. He has one of us framed around here somewhere. Come to think of it, Mark might have seen me topless before you did.” </p><p>“I’m the worst older brother.” </p><p>“I doubt it. Mark doesn’t think so anyway. He once told me his precious childhood memory was his big brother saving his measly part time checks to buy him guitar strings. He said he learned your favorite songs first.” </p><p>“And look how we are now,” Taeyong sighs. “I think I’m a worse person than you think I am, Doyoungie.” <em> I wonder if I won’t disappoint you. </em> </p><p>“Lucky you, then,” Doyoung tips Taeyong’s chin up to meet his eyes. “I still like you.” </p><p>“You don’t even know —” </p><p>“Tyong,” Doyoung interrupts. “I really fucking like you. You could probably run me over with a car and I’d still like you.” </p><p>Taeyong snorts, “You’re so shameless.” </p><p>“How else would I snag a ten like you?” </p><p>“Ah,” Taeyong bleats, covering his ears, “shut up. Please go make your rounds so we can leave soon. I want to suck the life out of you in your bed before the crossfade puts you to sleep.” </p><p>Doyoung laughs and brings his hand up in a cheeky salute before wading past the spread of dancers. </p><p>Scrubbing a hand over his face as a stupid laugh escapes him, Taeyong feels his body thrum with the combined warmth of the punch, weed, and Doyoung’s hug. His face feels flushed. He wonders if Doyoung’s always going to make him feel like an insipid rom-com character. He hates this. He hates how much he likes it. </p><p>“Hyungie,” Mark’s voice cuts through his daze like a splash of cold water. </p><p>“Markie,” Taeyong looks up as Mark’s hand encircles his wrist, “what’s up?” </p><p>“Hyungie, I didn’t know — shit — Yuta’s work friend, he always calls him Woojae,” Mark rambles as he pulls Taeyong to a different corner of the living room, away from the dancing, closer to the kitchen entrance. </p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“It’s Jaehyun,” Marks blurts out.</p><p> At the same time, Yuta yells from across the room, “Jaehyunnie, you boring bitch, just like you to let work make you late to your own party!” </p><p>Taeyong watches Yuta launch into the arms of a familiar tall figure wandering into the room behind Jaehyun. </p><p>“Johnny! You made it,” Yuta cries. “Woojae said you might be out of town.” </p><p>Taeyong can’t make out what Johnny says. He watches Johnny pat Yuta’s back warmly. </p><p>“Mark.”</p><p>“Okay, yeah, we’re gonna get you out of here,” Mark says. “Um, Sooyoung has Doyoung. We’ll just pick him up en route to the door.” </p><p>Taeyong feels like he’s not in his body, like he’s hovering above, as Mark pulls him along. The thrum of bodies sandwich and camoflauge them somewhat and they make it to the entryway where Doyoung is chatting comfortably with a mischievous looking woman. </p><p>“Doyoung, noona,” Mark says.</p><p>“Markie,” the woman coos. She slinks over and loops her arms around Mark’s neck. Her hands ruck up Mark’s shirt. </p><p>“Noona,” Mark chides. </p><p>“Who’s this?” she asks looking past Mark. </p><p>“Taeyong,” Taeyong manages. </p><p>“Doyoungie’s Taeyong?” her eyes widen. </p><p>“Not right now, noona,” Mark interjects. “Taeyongie’s not feeling well.” </p><p>Doyoung straightens up, “You okay? Was it the punch? Yuta’s always mixing some reckless shit.” </p><p>“I’m fine,” Taeyong says. “I just want to be in bed.” </p><p>Doyoung takes him in for a second and nods. “Okay. Let’s go.” </p><p>Taeyong feels his shoulders loosen slightly and that’s, of course, when Yuta’s voice booms from behind them. </p><p>“Doyoungie, you’re leaving? Like a thief in the night!” </p><p>Taeyong feels more than sees Mark’s full body wince. </p><p>“You haven’t even met Jaehyunie and Johnny yet! C’mere you two. Meet my favorite grumpy boy.” </p><p>“Johnny’s in the bathroom,” Jaehyun’s voice is light with amusement. “Hi, I’m Jaehyun.” </p><p>Taeyong looks up and watches Jaehyun and Doyoung exchange half waves from where they stand on either side of Mark and Sooyoung. He sees Jaehyun’s eyes land on Mark and widen. </p><p>“Mark and Sooyoung, my babies,” Yuta provides. “And this is Taeyongie, Doyoung’s boyfriend.” </p><p>Jaehyun’s eyes finally meet Taeyong’s. They bore into him. Something flits behind them too fast for Taeyong to note before his shoulders bunch up and he interrupts whatever joke Yuta started making. </p><p>“I should find Johnny,” Jaehyun says, eyes cast towards the floor as he walked back into the crush of people. </p><p>Taeyong feels a familiar burn bubble up inside him. He wants to yank Jaehyun back by his longish brown hair — no longer black — as much as he wants to shove him away. How dare he? </p><p>Taeyong feels Doyoung’s palm grasp his. </p><p>“Taeyongie’s not feeling well,” Doyoung says into the silence permeating the entryway. “We’re heading out.” </p><p>“Sure,” Yuta agrees. </p><p>Distantly, Taeyong can feel Yuta’s eyes on his face as Mark sheds Sooyoung’s embrace to give Taeyong a brief hug bye. </p><p>Taeyong dredges up a smile from somewhere as they wave from the doorstep before following Doyoung’s lead down the stairs. </p><p>How dare he act like Taeyong wasn’t there?  </p><p>Doyoung is quiet as Taeyong gets off at his own subway stop, a full five stops earlier than Doyoung’s. He doesn’t protest when Taeyong waves off his quiet <em> you gonna be okay alone? </em> </p><p>Taeyong watches the train slip off out the station before walking up and out into his neighborhood. </p><p>Into the overbearing humidity of the summer evening, sun still big and full in the sky, Taeyong lets himself ask aloud, “How dare he act like everything was my fault?” </p><p>Collapsing into bed, Taeyong wonders if he’s grown at all since February.</p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Doyoung allows Taeyong three days of radio silence before he shows up on Taeyong’s door step. </p><p>“I’m —” Taeyong tries to say.</p><p>“It’s your day off, Taeyong,” Doyoung cuts in. “You can tell me to fuck off, but I want to know what the problem is first.” </p><p>Taeyong peels back his front door and lets Doyoung slide in. He watches Doyoung toe off his sneakers and pad into the living room. </p><p>“Water?” Taeyong asks. </p><p>Doyoung lingers by the loveseat. He eyes the book on Lee Taemin that Taeyong has been rereading in preparation for the upcoming interview.  </p><p>“Sure,” Doyoung says. </p><p>Taeyong ducks into the kitchen and sticks his head in the refrigerator. He breathes. <em> In for three, pause, out for three. </em> He grab the water pitcher and fills two glasses. </p><p>Doyoung is in the doorway when Taeyong turns around. He jumps. </p><p>“Sorry,” Doyoung says without moving. </p><p>Taeyong brushes past him and sets the glasses down on the coffee table. Doyoung doesn’t pick his up. He sits on one of the loveseat’s arms. </p><p>Taeyong keeps his eyes low, trying to gather himself, but when the silence stretches, he lets them rise. Doyoung is already looking at him. </p><p>Taeyong’s stomach turns. He doesn’t know what he expected. <em> Taeyong </em> chastises Taeil in his head. Or maybe he suspected. In any case, Taeyong didn’t think Doyoung would look so...hurt. </p><p>“Are you brea — do you want to stop seeing me?” Doyoung asks. </p><p>Taeyong flinches. Leave it to Doyoung to start rough. Ripping off a band-aid.</p><p><em> The worst part is waiting </em> Taeyong remembers Doyoung murmuring to a grumpy Jiyong over the phone. </p><p>“No,” Taeyong whispers. “No, I don’t.” </p><p>And he’s relieved it’s the truth. He’d thought it was, but Taeyong knows he’s good at lying to others and even better at lying to himself. He’s doubted himself at times. </p><p>Still, as he takes in the way Doyoung carries himself — tight shoulders curled in — hurt and brittle looking, Taeyong knows he doesn’t want Doyoung to leave. </p><p>“I just — at the party, Jaehyun,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“He’s an ex,” Doyoung finishes. </p><p>Taeyong feels nauseated. He wants to cross the room and open a window, but he’s scared of what moving will let loose. </p><p>He hates this moment. He’s been dreading it. Known it was coming from the moment Doyoung started cutting him open with those too dark, too keen eyes those months ago. </p><p>“Taeyong?”</p><p>“He — Jaehyun has a partner.” </p><p>“Yeah. He was at Yuta’s, too. Taeyong, what—” </p><p>Doyoung’s eyes are icy spots on Taeyong’s face and slumped shoulders. </p><p>“Oh, Yong.” </p><p>It’s barely a breath. Almost too quiet to make out over the ambient noise of Taeyong’s apartment, but it lands like a blow. </p><p>The words pour out like Doyoung’s cracked him open. </p><p>“I was afraid. I didn’t want you t-to think—” </p><p>“You’re a cheater.” </p><p>Taeyong feels breathless. </p><p>Doyoung scrubs a hand through his hair. </p><p>“You lied,” Doyoung says, heels of his palms pressing into his eyes before they drop to his sides.”You lied when I <em> told </em>you to not play games.” </p><p>“I didn’t lie.”</p><p>“Taeyong.” </p><p>“I didn’t lie! I was waiting to tell you.” </p><p>“A lie of omission?”</p><p>Taeyong hates the way Doyoung looks then — eyes boring into Taeyong sharply, no glimpse of their usual mirthful glimmer. </p><p>“We’re just alike, us two,” Taeyong spits. “We lie while telling the truth.” </p><p>“I never lied to you.” </p><p>“No, you just withheld anything that might make you too vulnerable.” </p><p>“You met my family, you spoke to my mother.” </p><p>“I learned lovely things about you...but you never showed any of your sore spots. You don’t trust me not to hurt you. You’ve been guarding yourself from me all this time.”</p><p>“And look what trying to trust you got me! I bring you to Yuta’s. I start to let you...and then it turns out I don’t know who you are.” </p><p>“You do know me.” </p><p>Taeyong moves towards Doyoung. </p><p>“Do I? Do you even know me?”</p><p>“You do. I do.” </p><p>“What is this?” Doyoung’s voice is watery.</p><p>Taeyong doesn’t know what he means. This conversation? Their relationship? Doyoung feels farther away than he had even in the darkness of that gallery room all those months ago. </p><p>It feels like he’s moving faster than Taeyong can reach him. A dark shape receding into the night even though he hasn’t even left Taeyong’s living room. </p><p>“I love you,” Taeyong begs. </p><p>He touches the hem of Doyoung’s shirt. Has the urge to knot his fingers in and pull him down. Lay them both over the loveseat and encircle him. </p><p>Doyoung flinches and steps back. </p><p>“Don’t —” he says. </p><p>Revulsion. </p><p>Taeyong’s hands fall and he watches, detached, as Doyoung asks for <em> space, a break, please, Taeyong </em> before letting himself out of the apartment. </p><p>Taeyong’s emptying out the untouched water glasses at the sink when he starts crying in soft and then louder gasps of breath. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>The DisasterTM, all things considered, isn’t particularly sordid. That night is a shattered glass that Taeyong can never fully piece together coherently. February 14th, Jaehyun’s birthday party. Hosted at his and Johnny’s place. A shitty playlist that echoes through the ritzy apartment they afforded on Johnny’s lawyer salary. </p><p>A lot of people packed in. All of them glittering young professionals who are finishing degrees or starting promising jobs at private firms, big corporations, and artsy studios. </p><p><em> Bring Mark, </em> Jaehyun says, <em> he might get to rub elbows with some music people Johnny knows from college.  </em></p><p>And Mark does. Dressed in newer jeans and smart top, Mark slips into conversations easily with the bright smile that endeared him to everyone he’d ever met. Mark even tries pulling Taeyong in, but the first time Taeyong has to explain that he works at a big box store — no, not managerial work — had been enough. </p><p>Spotting Jaehyun in a quiet corner, mixing himself another drink, accepting, but never initiating longer conversation with passing birthday wishers, is a relief. </p><p>A little buzzed — Taeyong can tell by the liquidy way Jaehyun’s spine shifts beneath his shirt — Jaehyun hasn’t fallen into the full body wince he’s started reserving for Taeyong upon seeing him across the room. </p><p>Jaehyun waves him over. Looks happy to see him. Dimples crease his cheeks — surprisingly puffy and sweet for someone who works out religiously — and make him look <em> soft. </em> </p><p>The truth is Taeyong is mad. Has been mad for a long, long time, but when he reaches in and wraps Jaehyun up, he isn’t acting vengefully for Jaehyun’s increasing mistrust and resentment towards him. </p><p>When Taeyong rises and presses their lips together — orange juice, vodka, smoke — he’s full of affection for the shoujo manga man who talked to him like a person on the store floor and breathed a little warmth into him. The dimpled, sweet looking man who took shy peeks at him. Desired him when Taeyong felt shapeless and worn down. </p><p>That night, Taeyong kisses Jaehyun affectionately. He means to pull back and say something like “good, I’m glad we had this. I’ll stop. You should, too.” He means to, but Jaehyun chases after his mouth and then there’s a muffled “oh shit.” </p><p>From the doorway, Mark, Johnny, and two people Taeyong remembers saying a clipped <em> hi </em> to earlier look at him and Jaehyun. </p><p>The strangers exchange glances. Johnny — hurt — slides out of the room. Jaehyun untangles himself and bumps past Taeyong to follow. </p><p>“Let’s go,” Mark says tightly. </p><p>And dazed, Taeyong lets himself be led out the apartment. He catches a glimpse of Jaehyun’s back and side profile as he slips down the narrow hallway leading to the bedroom. The dimples are gone and his eyes are wide. </p><p>In the car, when Mark digs into him, Taeyong decides he deserves it. He must’ve always. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. they say 'you're a little much for me'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks a lot to everyone who commented on the first chapter! It was really nice to read your kind words as I edited the second chapter. Hope you like this second and final chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mark shows up at Taeyong’s apartment on the day Taeyong’s booked a tattoo appointment. He stands on Taeyong’s doormat with a big McDonald’s bag and muddy sneakers that he slides out repeatedly on the door mat before setting down in the tray Taeyong keeps for wet boots. </p><p>“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mark asks about the appointment around a mouthful of french fries.</p><p>They’re wolfing down the dollar menu standing in Taeyong’s living room. The appointment is in thirty minutes and the subway ride over takes twenty. </p><p>“I thought about alcoholism,” Taeyong says, “but thought this might be cheaper in the long run.” </p><p>“That’s not funny,” Mark says into half a McChicken. “We’re worried about you.” </p><p>Taeyong eyes Mark, frowning around a mouthful, “Who’s we? Who are you reporting to exactly?” </p><p>Mark coughs and takes a sip from his Coke, “Don’t flip. I haven’t spoken to Do — him in weeks. Not <em> since</em>.” </p><p>Not since Doyoung had shown up at Yuta’s the day after their talk. Taeyong’s morbid efforts to draw more details out of Mark’s initial slip of the tongue had failed in the face of his little brother’s moral code. </p><p>
  <em> That’s like emotionally foul, hyungie, I can’t spill that. Besides, Yuta made me go hang out with Jeno to prevent a conflict of interest. </em>
</p><p>“You can say his name. He’s not Voldemort.” </p><p>Mark rolls his eyes, “I mean me and Yuta and Sooyoung noona are worried.” </p><p>“Have I mentioned how strange it is that you’re in a polyamorous relationship?” </p><p>“You mention it every time you see me,” Mark sighs, “but seriously. Noona says it’s not healthy for you to bottle things in. You’ve just been going to work and going home. Have you talked to any of your friends about this?” </p><p>Then, as if it just occurred to him, “Hyungie, you, like, have friends, right?” </p><p>“Tact,” Taeyong says as he crumples up his sandwich wrapper, “and yes, I have friends, Markie. I’m a lot less pathetic than you think I am.” </p><p>“I don’t think you’re pathetic!”</p><p>Mark tosses his trash into the paper bag. </p><p>“You’re just very reclusive sometimes! I worry you don’t let yourself process things! With, you know, people who care.” </p><p>Taeyong carries the paper bag over to the trash can before sliding his feet into his sneakers in the entryway. </p><p>Mark hurries over. </p><p>“Don’t be mad,” he pouts. </p><p>“I’m not mad,” Taeyong says as he grabs his wallet. </p><p>Mark frowns, “It’s okay to be mad, though.” </p><p>“Mark Lee!” </p><p>Taeyong pushes him out the door as soon as he grabs his shoes. </p><p>“I’m just saying,” Mark says as he hops around on one foot in the hallway, bending to pull the heel of his sneakers up around his feet, “it’s normal to feel mad or sad. Upset.” </p><p><em> You can feel hurt </em> Taeil had said. </p><p>“I know that,” Taeyong sighs as they step out onto the street. “I am. I am upset and sad and I’m not hiding from that, but I <em> refuse </em> to just cry every day. I don’t want to be that person who lets a break-u— devastate them. I can process and not fall apart, right?” </p><p>They walk in silence for a moment before Mark says, “Sure, you don’t have to be devastated. As an adult, you don’t have a week to just mope around. The world keeps turning and all that, but it’s okay to feel devastated if you are.”</p><p>“I know.” </p><p>“It’s just — you talk sometimes like saying you’re sad or hurt is a luxury. Like you don’t have time for it…”</p><p>“Mark,” Taeyong pleads.</p><p>“But you do. Being sad isn’t some vacation for the weak willed — it’s a necessity. It’s a right. And good if you are processing it in your way, but sometimes I think you feel like being hurt is what you deserve. And instead of processing, you just take it. Like it’s inevitable.”</p><p>Taeyong flinches. </p><p>“And it’s not true.” </p><p>They’re quiet after. Even in the tattoo parlor, as Mark sits on a tiny bench while a heavily tattooed woman presses a buzzing needle into Taeyong’s arm, they don’t say a word. </p><p>Mark watches the woman swipe a paper towel over the ink, pulling away the excess and dots of blood, but doesn’t comment.</p><p>Taeyong’s the one to break the silence. They’ve stopped for ice cream at a truck. Probably the last ice cream truck they’ll see for a while. The last humid tendrils of summer have receded and the mornings are growing cooler. </p><p>“I resented you,” Taeyong says. </p><p>Mark nods, like he’s known all along, and something inside Taeyong loosens. </p><p>“I hated myself for that,” Taeyong sighs. “Why couldn’t I just be happy for all the good things you were doing? How you were pursuing what made you happy? What kind of big brother did that make me?” </p><p>Mark winces and rubs at his forehead. “Brain freeze,” he explains, holding a finger up to Taeyong. </p><p>Taeyong snorts in spite of himself. </p><p>“A normal one,” Mark says finally. “Brothers resent each other all the time.”</p><p>“You didn’t,” Taeyong presses. </p><p>Mark laughs, “Are you kidding? My first crush was obsessed with you. I resented you before puberty hit.” </p><p>Taeyong huffs, “It’s not the same. That’s petty stuff.”</p><p>“It is,” Mark agrees, “but I didn’t want to start with the real stuff.”</p><p>Taeyong stares. </p><p>“I resented how close you were to dad,” Mark says. “I saw him that day outside your school. Mom told me to give you the new apartment key that morning before you left, but I forgot. Had to catch you before you left for work.” </p><p>“It wasn’t—” </p><p>“Good, I know. I figured from the way you looked so <em> hurt,</em> but I was so mad that after all that time, he would just show up for you, like I didn’t exist. And when we were younger and he would take you on drives, bring home the sweets you like.”</p><p>“He didn’t want me to feel overlooked by the new baby of the house.”</p><p>“I know, I know that, but it felt like he didn’t care.” </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>Mark frowns, “I regretted it, you know, saying what I said about dad. After Jaehyun’s party. It wasn’t just that I didn’t take your side. It was that I went after something I knew would hurt.”</p><p>Taeyong picks at the napkin that had come wrapped around his ice cream cone. He tears at it in increments. </p><p>“I was more of a mama’s boy, but you and dad were close,” Mark says. “If I was hurt when dad left, I should’ve known it would hit you hard.” </p><p>“Hey,” Taeyong interrupts, “don’t pit our feelings against each other like that. It’s not a competition. Dad leaving hurt everyone.” </p><p>Mark nods, “I’m just sorry. For pressing you. It wasn’t even about that really. I was just mad that we were drifting apart.” </p><p>“I’m sorry, too. I let my resentment get between us. I just,” Taeyong huffs. “I just felt more and more like a loser in those days. A big fucking loser.” </p><p>Mark’s mouth twists. He watches Taeyong with the same big earnest expression he always has. </p><p>“My Markie was getting closer to his degree, mom had just started seeing someone kind of serious, and I was working this job I hated,” Taeyong voice cracks, “and doing something that felt good at first, but was tearing me up.” </p><p>“Jaehyun.”</p><p>“It isn’t...that kiss was the most—” </p><p>“You don’t have to explain anything to me, hyungie. Whatever I made you think, I'm on your side.” </p><p>“I know, I want to tell you. I don’t think I’ve really said this aloud to anyone before.”</p><p>Mark’s hand, bony, but warm, drops onto Taeyong’s. </p><p>“That job was a good one, you know. They were paying me more than minimum wage. Even though I’d never gone to college. It was a good enough job...but every time I went in there, it was like the life was being sucked out of me.” </p><p>“I’d get home tired and sore and feeling stupid in my sweaty uniform pants and shirt and treat myself to instant ramen most nights because I didn't have the energy for anything else. The people at work were either older or younger. People mom’s age who felt like more worn down versions of me or people your age who were only there for a season to make extra cash.”</p><p>“It was a perfectly good job, but I felt like such a failure. I never realized how much I wanted to do — try out college, make friends my age, learn what I really liked —until I saw my future stretching out in front of me: the same jobs I’d been doing since it was legal for me to work.” </p><p>“It felt like everything was slipping away from me. I’d been keeping my head down, making due with what I could afford, but the window was closing on figuring out what could make me happy. And then, Jaehyun walked in and saw me and for a little while, I felt like I was more than just an aimless twenty-something at a dead end.” </p><p>“We talked about movies. He’d seen all the ones I used to watch with mom. It felt like he was for me. I felt special.” </p><p>“Hyungie, you know you’re special even without him, right? You didn’t need him.” </p><p>“I know..I know that. He just reminded me, I guess.”</p><p>“Reminded you?”</p><p>“Reminded me that underneath all the shit I didn’t care about, all the stuff I’d learned while working to help mom makes ends meet, that I had interests, opinions, desires. I wasn’t just living for work.” </p><p>A pause.</p><p>“Do you remember my tenth birthday?” Mark asks. </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong exhales through his nose. “You cried all night after we sang you happy birthday. A little lump in your bed. You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” </p><p>“I heard mom when she thanked you for saying okay to stop your dance lessons for a while. So we could afford the guitar I asked for.” </p><p>“Oh Mark.”</p><p>“I was so mad at myself. I had been so happy to get that guitar, but I didn’t know what it had cost you.”</p><p>“It’s okay—”</p><p>“You really liked dancing.”</p><p>“I did. Mom even asked later if I wanted to pick them back up, but we were one emergency away from being broke at any moment. I couldn’t ask her to do that.” </p><p>“And my guitar?”</p><p>“I wanted you to have it. Something to do while mom and I were at work. Besides, it was a one time fee, really. As long as you took care of it, you’d have it forever.” </p><p>Taeyong doesn’t say anything when Mark swipes a hand over his eyes.</p><p>"You paid for new strings all the time."</p><p>"I was happy to." </p><p>“We don’t have to do that anymore though,” Mark says. “I have my guitar. And you can afford dance lessons. You don’t have to—”</p><p>“I know, I know,” Taeyong turns over his hand to squeeze Mark’s. “Did I tell you I’ve been taking classes at the local uni?”</p><p>“Really?” </p><p>“Yeah, just an art class or two. They meet once a week so it’s been alright to go while I work at the gallery.” </p><p>“That’s awesome, hyungie. Art, huh?” </p><p>“It’s good. Really good. I didn’t think I would like it as much as I do. Interviewed for the gallery because anything but what I’d been doing would do,” Taeyong shrugs, “but I like it a lot.” </p><p>“What’s the gallery like?”</p><p>“It’s a weird space. The art is really not like...I dunno, paintings and things. It’s more installation and performance based stuff that the directors display,” Taeyong explains. “Like, people come in and build things in the space. Or they perform something. It’s really odd sometimes. Sometimes I think people just like making weird things for the sake of it being weird.” </p><p>Mark laughs. </p><p>“The best stuff, though, is always...arresting. Like, you have to look even if it’s strange or overwhelming.” </p><p>“Like a horror movie?” Mark asks. </p><p>It startles a laugh out of Taeyong, “Yeah, like a horror movie.” </p><p>“Cool,” Mark hums, “so you just…” </p><p>Taeyong laughs again, “I help out visitors, make some sales on merchandise we keep. Other people help organize what art we feature. I write about art in the city sometimes and recently, I’ve started interviewing artists.” </p><p>“Whoa,” Mark exclaims, “that’s really cool...but you’re like, shy.”</p><p>Taeyong snorts, “I know, right. It makes me nervous every time I sit down to talk to someone, but when the opportunity came up, it felt like...I have to do that, you know?” </p><p>Mark grins slowly, “Oiiii.” </p><p>Taeyong shakes his head. A slow smile slashes his face.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re doing what you want, hyungie,” Mark smiles. “You deserve to be happy.”</p><p>Sitting across from Mark and soaking up the last of the summer, Taeyong finds it easy to believe. </p><p> </p><p>. . .  </p><p> </p><p>Jungwoo is slurping down his third iced coffee of the day. </p><p>“Are you gonna be okay?” Taeyong asks him, breath coming out in soft puffs, as they have their lunch break on a park bench a few blocks over from the gallery. </p><p>Jungwoo had spent the better part of summer finishing his dissertation and was now gearing up to defend it. </p><p>“Probably not,” Jungwoo says. “The clock is ticking and I have no real plan other than go in there on Monday and act like I know what I’m saying.” </p><p>“But, like, you do. You’ve done nothing but read and write about contemporary Korean artists for like the past two years.” </p><p>“I mean, yes,” Jungwoo says, “but I’ve never had a panel of experts grill me on a project of this scope. What if I forget everything?” </p><p>“You won’t.” </p><p>“Argh! Distract me. Tell me what’s happening with you. Is Doyoungie still doing the vanishing act?” </p><p>“Doyoungie, huh?”</p><p>“Is that too familiar? Forgive me, he’s the love of my life.” </p><p>“Hey!” </p><p>“Too soon?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, I only told him I loved him and haven’t heard from him in almost a month now.” </p><p>Jungwoo winces. </p><p>“He texted last week. I think he was drunk. It was just ‘tyongie.’ And then, in the morning ‘sorry. Keysmash.’” </p><p>“He said he keysmashed your name?” </p><p>“I’d be angrier if it hadn’t made me feel disgustingly gooey and hopeful about him <em> talking </em>to me.” </p><p>“Oh, Yong, you know it’s not really about you, right?” Jungwoo prods. “Sure, he was mad that you didn’t tell him, but he’s dealing with his own shit.” </p><p>“Did he tell you that?” </p><p>“Do you actually love him?”</p><p>“I don't know.” </p><p>“You said it to get him to stay. That’s hurtful.” </p><p>“I know. I regretted it as soon as I said it. He looked so…” </p><p><em> Repulsed</em>. </p><p>Jungwoo nudges Taeyong. </p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re thinking mean things to yourself. Stop it,” Jungwoo says. “You may have done something wrong, but that’s not license to hurt yourself.” </p><p>Taeyong sucks his teeth, “Everyone says that, but then, what’s the alternative? Patting myself on the back and going, <em> oh, Taeyong, it’s okay that you’ve been kind of shitty to people! Shit happens! Whoopsie! Excuse me, while I go on like nothing happened! </em>” </p><p>“Feeling bad isn’t recompense for wrongdoing,” Jungwoo says. “It’s just feeling bad. Assuming you’re not a narcissist, you know you were in the wrong. You know why. Own your mistakes and if the people you hurt want your apology, apologize to them!”</p><p>Taeyong winces.</p><p>“Tearing yourself down after the fact doesn’t change what you did. And honestly, your feeling bad doesn’t help anyone. It just makes you a depressed little skeleton.”</p><p>Jungwoo pokes at Taeyong’s sweater and jacket layered ribs. </p><p>“You’re allowed to love yourself even when you make mistakes. Even when you do ugly things. We’re all working to be better, Yongie. We can’t wait until we become perfect to start being kind to ourselves because we’re <em> never </em> gonna get there.” </p><p>Taeyong peers at Jungwoo. </p><p>“How do you know you’re not just being selfish when you forgive yourself?”</p><p>“You don’t always,” Jungwoo says. “You have to trust yourself and your friends to call you out on it if you are.” </p><p>Taeyong frowns. </p><p>“That’s life,” Jungwoo balls up their trash and tosses it into a nearby trash can. He raises his arms up impishly to celebrate the three pointer. “We have to act for the right reasons — whatever those are to us — and then live with murkiness.” </p><p>“I hate that,” Taeyong moans. </p><p>“It’s a mess,” Jungwoo chirps, pulling at Taeyong’s arms to tug him up off the bench, “living is so bleak sometimes. We should write a bad Yelp review.” </p><p>Taeyong snorts. </p><p>“You know, you’re a lot deeper than expected, Mr. Jungwoo.” </p><p>Jungwoo bats his eyes, “Who me? Is Jungwoo very smart?”</p><p>“Okay,” Taeyong sighs even as he scritches his fingers under Jungwoo’s chin, “the moment is gone. Let’s go.” </p><p>They’re about to turn onto the gallery’s street when Taeyong turns to Jungwoo. </p><p>“Should I apologize to him?” he asks. </p><p>Jungwoo throws an arm over Taeyong’s shoulder and pulls him along. </p><p>“He asked for space. Let him come to you,” Jungwoo says, “if you still want to wait.” </p><p>Taeyong hums. He could cut things off. Text Doyoung to say he was tired, wanted to move on. </p><p>The thought grips his chest. No, Taeyong thinks, he doesn’t want to do that. </p><p>“I do,” Taeyong sighs as Jungwoo holds open the gallery door. “Is that pathetic?”</p><p>Jungwoo’s eyes twinkle, “Love makes us act pretty silly.” </p><p>Taeyong blinks. </p><p>“What.” </p><p>“There you two are,” rumbles Kyungsoo. “C’mon. All hands on deck. We’ve got a big delivery in the alleyway.” </p><p><em> I’m not... </em> Taeyong thinks as he sheds his jacket and hustles after them. <em> I’d know, right? </em></p><p>Feeling spiteful for the unwanted self-reflection as they follow Kyungsoo out into the alley to help receive the delivery, Taeyong hip checks Jungwoo. </p><p>When Jungwoo only sways into the delivery man, the latter righting Jungwoo with a soft hand on Jungwoo’s shoulder and offering a friendly smile, Taeyong decides god has favorites. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Lee Taemin is and isn’t the slight wispy figure Taeyong’s seen in the archived recordings from the early 2000s. He was a teenager then, Taeyong knows, working collaboratively in an art collective composed primarily of musicians and dancers. </p><p>Taeyong has watched recording after recording in Kyungsoo’s office mesmerized by the way fragile looking Lee Taemin could put together such heart wrenching stories. </p><p>Taeyong’s favorite is <em> goodbye</em>. In it, Taemin lifts himself to his feet and falls to the floor working his way across a dimly lit room in the slowest, most drawn out falls — a practice Taeyong remembers faintly from his few modern dance classes as a little kid — trying to extricate himself from a disinterested partner who alternates between watching Taemin fall and humming a tuneless song. </p><p>“It’s a gut punch,” Kyungsoo had murmured from the doorway of his office during Taeyong’s third rewatch. “Earnest, present, no pretenses.” </p><p>Shuffling in, Kyungsoo set down a paper bag down on his desk and pulled up a chair across from Taeyong. </p><p>“It reminds me a lot of Kwon Haru,” Taeyong said. “<em>Apples</em>.” </p><p>Kyungsoo paused. Then nodded. </p><p>“Hadn’t thought of that,” Kyungsoo said finally, “but they’re both very interested in showing us pain. People being let down.” </p><p>“It’s grief,” Taeyong said. “To me, it’s grief, and anger. Mourning a connection that’s soured.” </p><p>Kyungsoo nodded, “You should ask him about it. Sounds like a thoughtful take.” </p><p>Taeyong had flushed, knowing that Kyungsoo only ever said what he meant, before nodding and excusing himself to joining Jungwoo at the front desk. </p><p>Now, Taeyong is meeting the twenty something Lee Taemin, only a few years older than Taeyong, in a quiet cafe the artist had recommended.</p><p>“Taeminie runs late,” says the barista when he takes Taeyong’s name for his order. “He asked me to tell you sit at his table and to put your order on his tab.” </p><p><em> Jongin</em>, according to his name tag, helps him to the table in question, tucked into a corner, with a pot of hot citron tea, honey generously mixed in, and a pastry. </p><p>Taeyong’s about to ask Jongin if he and Taemin are good friends when the bell above the cafe door chimes and a face Taeyong’s learned through video footage pokes walks in with fuller cheeks and the barely there start of laugh lines. </p><p>“Jonginie,” Lee Taemin says. “Am I very late? Is he here?” </p><p>“Always,” Jongin sighs like his friend pains him, “and yes.” </p><p>Taemin puts on a know-nothing smile and hip checks Jongin before he spots Taeyong at the table behind him. </p><p>“Lee Taeyong,” Taemin smiles, something less teasing, “it’s good to meet you.” </p><p>“You, too,” Taeyong stutters. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” </p><p>“It’s no problem at all,” Taemin waves at him. “I really love the work Junmyeon and Kyungsoo do at the gallery. I’m excited to be featured on the podcast.” </p><p>“The usual?” Jongin lays a hand on Taemin’s shoulder. </p><p>“Please,” Taemin asks and then looks down at the spread in front of Taeyong. “Wait, instead of the coffee, maybe just another cup?” </p><p>He looks to Taeyong mid question.</p><p>“Of course,” Taeyong says. “There’s a whole pot.” </p><p>Taemin smiles and Jongin pats his shoulder once before taking off. </p><p>Shedding his jacket, Taemin slips over the back of the chair opposite Taeyong before sitting down. </p><p>“I love citron tea in fall,” Taemin says. “I’m usually a coffee person. I think being around so many artists as a teen really made me pick up some cliched habits. Still, not even the hautiest beret wearers could overwrite my mom’s habit of switching to tea in fall.” </p><p>Taeyong puffs a laugh through his teeth, “My mom’s the same. Said it would keep our throats warm and cold-free through winter.” </p><p>Taemin smiles, “Are you close with your mom?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “I call her every week. She probably gets sick of me, but I worry about her.” </p><p>“I’m sure she appreciates it,” Taemin says. “There’s a strange sort of loneliness about being an adult. No real forced socialization. You have to seek everyone out once you’re done with school.” </p><p>Jongin appears with another cup then and a plate with a fluffy pastry. He scrunches fingers through the hair at Taemin’s nape before leaving. </p><p>“Jonginie is my life long friend,” Taemin says. </p><p>“Oh, you don’t— I’m here about your art,” Taeyong flushes. He hadn’t been particularly subtle in his staring. </p><p>“I know,” Taemin reassures him as he grabs the pot of tea and pours himself a cup. “I feel like I can trust you. Besides, it’s nothing secret really. I love him a lot. Would marry him if he ever felt like it.” </p><p>Taemin pauses to drink. </p><p>“Is he…” Taeyong pauses. </p><p>“Tragically heterosexual,” Taemin sighs. Rolls his eyes. “In this day and age.” </p><p>A puff of laughter escapes Taeyong’s nose. </p><p>“Sometimes, I thought he was very cruel,” Taemin says, “before I realized he was just an idiot.” </p><p>“Is it painful?” </p><p>“I love him.” </p><p>“Do you mind if I start?”</p><p>“Go ahead.” </p><p>“A lot of your art is about relationships. All sorts. And pain. Is there something in particular you’ve been working towards exploring about love’s relationship to pain?” </p><p>“I’m fascinated by relationships really. I like watching how people interact and talk to each other. I think it’s because of how weird I felt as a kid. I hated school. I felt it so monotonous and soul-draining. The best part of it was tuning out and seeing the weirdness of how people became friends or had petty squabbles.” </p><p>“I don’t have any overarching goal. I just fixate on the moments where friction enters relationships, where people’s love for others butts up against their devotion to themselves and their best interests.” </p><p>“Your work reminds me a lot of Kwon Haru’s in that way. You both seem to focus on people being let down or hurt. Broken trust, relationships souring.”</p><p>“Thank you. That means so much to me. Her work has been extremely influential to me. I learned so much about how to make art that costs something.” </p><p>“Costs something?” </p><p>“Yeah, early on in my projects, I knew that I didn’t want to make things just for shock value or for aesthetic. I wanted my art to have emotional impact, to hurt a little, and to make something that would reach people in such a way, I realized I had to make myself vulnerable. I try to have my art cost me a little vulnerability each time so it feels like I’m reaching people.” </p><p>“You do. I watched <em> goodbye </em> over and over. I tried explaining to my brother what was so compelling about performance art to me and I kept thinking of the way you and Kwon Haru make me want to keep looking at something that disturbs me. My brother compared it to a horror movie. Do you identify your work with aspects of horror?” </p><p>Taemin laughs, “Not overtly, but there is something there, right? One of my early collaborators was really into psychological theories. Would talk my ear off about ideas on estrangement and the so-called uncanny. Recognizing something familiar in a thing otherwise foreign. I think you’re right to say compelling performance art can have that kind of quality.” </p><p>They go back and forth for an hour. Taeyong’s questions run out, but then Taemin starts asking some of him. It’s more comfortable than Taeyong could have expected. He feels lighter as he asks Taemin to record a brief opening and introduction with him for when they publish the interview. </p><p>“That was fun,” says Taemin as Taeyong ends the recording. </p><p>“I’m glad to hear that,” Taeyong smiles. “I get really nervous before these things.” </p><p>“You were great! Really easy to talk to,” Taemin assures. “It’s clear you really know a lot about performance.” </p><p>“That’s kind of you to say,” Taeyong says, “It’s mostly me pouring over the gallery library so I appreciate it.” </p><p>“You didn’t go to school for art?” </p><p>“No, learned on the job.” </p><p>“Me, too,” Taemin grins, cheeky, and Taeyong can’t help but join in. </p><p>“I hope this isn’t condescending,” Taemin says after a beat, “but you can have more confidence in yourself. There are plenty of dummies roaming around the art world. You’re a hardworker and that counts for a lot, but on top of it you seem genuinely interested in the work.” </p><p>Taeyong flushes. Nods. </p><p>“Cool,” Taemin says. “I should probably hoof it across town before I’m late for my next thing, but I’m sure I’ll see you around at some event. Don’t be a stranger when we run into each other next.” </p><p>They walk out the cafe together and Taemin offers a cheery wave before darting off, chunky knit scarf waving behind him like a tail. </p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like it went well,” Taeil says. </p><p>“Better than,” Taeyong says. “I’m relieved. Kyungsoo really liked the interview. Jungwoo made that silly face when he saw me at work after it went live.”</p><p>“What face?”</p><p>“He wears this expression when I do well — an I told you so look.” </p><p>“Does he think you doubt yourself?” </p><p>Taeyong looks flatly at Taeil. </p><p>Taeil stares back. </p><p>“He thinks I’m harder on myself than I should be,” Taeyong explains. “Tells me I need to know the difference between reflecting on things I regret and being unkind to myself.” </p><p>Taeil’s eyebrows rise minutely. A <em> oh wow, would you look at that </em>. </p><p>“Shut up,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“Taeyong,” Taeil reprimands lightly. </p><p>“Sorry,” Taeyong sighs. </p><p>“Work is good then. It’s been what? Almost half a year since you started there right?” Taeil prompts. </p><p>“More than,” Taeyong counts up the months in his head. “I’m really glad I ended up there. I like it a lot.” </p><p>“You mentioned you told Mark about it — have you talked about it with your mom? Your dad? You said Mark got in touch with him recently.” </p><p>“I’ve told mom about it. Not my dad. I haven’t spoken to him.” </p><p>“Really?” </p><p>“Things just feel really charged whenever I've talked to him.” </p><p>“How so?” </p><p>“There’s just so much. I feel like we can only ever go from stupid stuff to all the things that hurt. Like, he might off-hand mention buying stuff for my — for his kid— and I’ll probably flip the hell out.” </p><p>“The small talk feels vapid and most other topics have too much at stake.” </p><p>“Exactly, I don’t know what to talk to him about that won’t make me feel shitty. Out of control.” </p><p>“Avoiding talking to him won’t make the conversations easier.” </p><p>“I know, but I don’t — I hate feeling like I’m one innocuous comment from blowing up at him. I hate that he’s become this weird variable when —” </p><p>“When?” </p><p>“When he used to my best friend.” </p><p>“Your relationship has changed. It had to given the strain it was put under. Still, if you want to rebuild a relationship with him, you have to accept that this relationship might be different. You’re both different now.” </p><p>“Right.” </p><p>“And blowing up — if you do — that doesn’t mean things are done.” </p><p>“Doesn’t it? He fucking just took off the last time I got mad,” Taeyong sighs. </p><p>Taeil looks at him. </p><p>“No matter how other people react, you have a right to express your anger and disappointment in them. No matter what they do after, it isn’t too much to let them know they upset you.” </p><p>“Right.” </p><p>“Let me put it this way, do you begrudge Mark for yelling at you? It made you feel bad, yes, but would you deny him the ability to vent?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“When you doubt whether or not you should speak your anger, think about that. Would you begrudge other people telling you when your actions hurt them? No. Grant yourself the same generosity you do others.” </p><p>“How?” whispers Taeyong. “Sometimes all I think about are all the ugly things I’ve done. How do I just let it all go?” </p><p>“It’s not so much letting go,” Taeil says. “It’s more like accepting. Forgiving yourself for the things you regret. Taking the lessons, but not letting yourself fixate.” </p><p>“Sounds hard.”</p><p>“It is,” Taeil huffs. </p><p>Taeyong sighs, “You know, when I first walked in here, I thought I’d be...I dunno...all shiny and new when I left. In the movies, people have this glow to them once they unearth their traumas. I think I’m just getting duller.” </p><p>“Healing is painful,” Taeil agrees. “I don’t know why people come talk to me honestly. It isn’t very fun at all.” </p><p>A puff of laughter escapes Taeyong. </p><p>“I’m being dramatic,” Taeyong says after a beat. “I know there are good days and bad days.” </p><p>“Do you feel like you’ve made progress?” Taeil makes finger quotes at the last word. He’s always emphasized the non-linearity of things. </p><p>“Who knows?” Taeyong sighs. </p><p>“Taeyong,” Taeil points at the office rules. </p><p>Taeyong smiles, “I think so? I mean, I’m learning to take things as they come, but these days I feel alright. Better than I did.” </p><p>“You’ve mentioned things with your family are good. You talk to Mark more, you’re trying to reconnect with your dad. How’re things with Doyoung?” </p><p>“He hasn’t reached out,” Taeyong says. “Weirdly, Yuta gives me updates on him sometimes. He got my number from Mark.” </p><p>“It’s been almost a month now,” Taeil notes. “Are you still okay with waiting?” </p><p>“I don’t let myself think about it,” Taeyong says. “I’m not in a rush to meet someone so there’s no real reason not to wait, right?” </p><p>Taeil’s silent. </p><p>“I go back and forth between being mad at him and wanting to throw myself at his front door like a fucking loser. I tell myself every other day that I’m gonna call him and tell him to go fuck himself and not bother talking to me again.” </p><p>“And then I catch word from Mark about how Yuta went over to Doyoung’s apartment when he found out he caught the flu and force fed him soup and all I want to do is go over and ask what he needs.” </p><p>“I’m mad at him for keeping me in this limbo,” Taeyong admits, “I know he’s not a mean-spirited person. I know he’s not keeping me waiting to be spiteful. And I can wait for a little longer if the alternative is me shutting the door on something that I really cherish.” </p><p>“How long are you willing to wait? At what point do you want to seek closure?”</p><p>"Closure?"</p><p>The soft chime of Taeil’s alarm draws Taeyong back from his stupor.</p><p> </p><p>. . .  </p><p> </p><p>“Blonde,” Jungwoo declares as he drops a massive bottle of developer into the shopping basket looped over his forearm. </p><p>Sicheng grabs several sachets of powder bleach from a box above Taeyong’s head and drops them in alongside the developer. </p><p>“Maybe we should just take him to a salon,” Renjun says, “I don’t want to be held responsible for making him bald.” </p><p>Taeyong gawks. </p><p>“We’re not gonna make Taeyong bald,” Jungwoo sucks his teeth. “We literally bleached Yukhei’s hair last week. He and his head of hair survived.”</p><p>“It’ll be cheaper,” Sicheng offers. “And hair grows back.” </p><p>Taeyong clasps his hands together and bows his head, “So be it.” </p><p>They leave the tiny beauty supply store and walk to Jungwoo’s apartment stopping to pick up some take out on the way.</p><p>Sicheng is expertly deboning the last spicy chicken wing with one hand while using his glove clad other to smoosh back Taeyong’s hair. It’s the second round of bleach and Taeyong’s thankful he ate first because the bleach fumes would have definitely put off his appetite. </p><p>Sicheng, however, has no such squeamishness and fights Jungwoo for the last traditional drumstick before Renjun puts his foot down. </p><p>“I don’t care who eats the last traditional piece, but you have to stop duking it out next to Taeyong’s hair. I don’t want to find out what chicken seasoning does to bleached hair.” </p><p>“Probably the bigger problem would be what bleach does to chicken,” Yukhei says absentmindedly from the living room floor. He’s sprawled on his side in front of the television.</p><p>It is so Jungwoo, Taeyong thinks, to make the delivery man he bumped into a doting boyfriend in training. Some people have all the luck. </p><p>Renjun barks in irritation before slapping some more bleach down onto Taeyong’s hair. Jungwoo and Sicheng seem to have reached a compromise. Jungwoo gets the drumstick while Sicheng finishes off the Coke. </p><p>Taeyong feels the bleach tingle and prick at his scalp. He’s never dyed his hair before, but the urge had come over him after seeing a pink haired woman wander into the gallery. Jungwoo had assured him it was queer culture to dye one’s hair in times of emotional volatility. </p><p>Bent over Jungwoo’s bathtub, rinsing out the dye and washing his hair, Taeyong thinks he understands why. He towels off his hair — a shock of white blonde — and feels recentered somehow. </p><p>“I’ve remade myself,” Taeyong intones. </p><p>“You are god,” Renjun adds. </p><p>“Men fear you,” Sicheng hums. </p><p>“And adore you,” Jungwoo smiles. </p><p>“Amen,” Yukhei calls from the next room. </p><p>Laughing, Taeyong smooths a protectant into his hair and clicks on the hair dryer. Jungwoo insists on a picture later. The four of them crowd into frame as Jungwoo takes it. It goes on Instagram captioned with a lightning bolt. </p><p>“Make an account, you old fart, so I can tag you,” Jungwoo whines. </p><p>“That seems bad for me,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“Yes, but there’s filters and things,” Jungwoo cajoles. </p><p>“There’s also a bunch of artists on there,” Renjun says. </p><p>“I’ll think about it,” Taeyong muses. </p><p>Jungwoo gawps. </p><p>“I see how it is.” </p><p>“There, there,” Sicheng pats in the general direction of Jungwoo’s head as he keeps his eyes on the television. </p><p>Yukhei put on a movie while they’d been taking pictures. It’s a romantic old black and white from France with subtitles across the bottom of the screen. </p><p>Taeyong’s not sure what it’s about, but he’s more interested in the way Yukhei and Sicheng watch it with rapt attention. Sicheng even mouths some words. </p><p>Smiling slightly, Taeyong creates an Instagram account from Jungwoo’s couch and his first post is a video of Sicheng and Yukhei reciting a line from the movie their faces aglow from the tv’s light. </p><p>Taeyong doesn’t caption it, but he tags their respective accounts.</p><p>Jungwoo’s the first to comment under it: <em> so we’re just gonna play favorites now? </em> </p><p>Taeyong laughs loudly and holds up his hands in apology when Sicheng turns to look at him accusingly. Taeyong mimes zipping his lips and settles into watch the movie his friends love. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>taeyong 11:30:</strong> i’m going to tell him i’m done waiting. </p>
  <p><strong>jungwoo 11:32:</strong>  do what you think is right. </p>
  <p><strong>taeyong 11:32:</strong> &lt;3</p>
  <p><strong>jungwoo 11:33:</strong> &lt;33</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Like he’d been waiting for the end of Taeyong’s resolve, Doyoung texts him in the morning. Asks if Taeyong will meet him for coffee sometime in the week. Taeyong agrees and feels his stomach twist. </p><p>“Should I feel like this?” Taeyong asks Mark over the phone the day before he’s supposed to see Doyoung. </p><p>“Like what?” Mark asks. Taeyong hears Yuta’s chatter in the background. </p><p><em> It’s in the drawer. No, the bottom one</em>, Mark says muffled like he’s holding his hand over the receiver. </p><p>“Sorry,” Mark says. “Like what?” </p><p>“Sick,” Taeyong says. “I feel like my stomach wants to punch it’s way out of my abdominal cavity.” </p><p>“Gnarly,” Mark says. Then, “Yes? You’re nervous. That makes sense. This is a kinda emotionally loaded thing, you know?” </p><p>“God, how do people deal with this?” </p><p>“Well, I’m physically incapable of holding in my thoughts,” Mark says. “I just blurt things out mostly.” </p><p>Taeyong snorts, “Thanks, I won’t try that.” </p><p>“Honesty is good, hyungie. Communication is key.” </p><p>“I’d rather keep all my feelings inside until I explode.” </p><p>“Pretty sure that’s what got you and Doyoung into this situation in the first place. Maybe don’t do that this time.” </p><p>A sigh. </p><p>“You're right,” Taeyong says. “I just...am not looking forward to how much that conversation is gonna make me want to crawl out of my skin.” </p><p>“The worst part is waiting,” Mark says. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>“I love you.” </p><p>“I love you, too.” </p><p> </p><p>They meet at a cafe nearby Taeyong’s apartment. When Doyoung used to sleepover, they’d sometimes have a sleepy morning walk to the cafe to get ham and cheese croissants that sell out in under an hour. </p><p>Now, Taeyong walks in alone and, not sighting Doyoung, goes up to the counter to place an order. He carries an orange and cinnamon infused pastry over to a table in the front corner by the windows while his drink is made. </p><p>Taeyong’s grabbing his order from the end of the bar counter, crumpling up the receipt under the mug and tossing it into the nearby trash can, when he spots Doyoung walk up to the register. </p><p>Their eyes meet and Taeyong tips his head towards the table he picked before walking back to it. Seated, Taeyong watches Doyoung order. Takes in the long length of his neck as he peruses the menu. Takes in the worn in jean jacket he wears over a soft looking baby blue hoodie. </p><p>Doyoung looks young today, Taeyong thinks, and then their eyes catch as Doyoung starts back towards the table, but still so intense. </p><p>He doesn’t smile as he approaches Taeyong, but his eyes soften minutely. </p><p>“You’re different,” Doyoung says. </p><p>“Blonder,” Tayeong wraps his hands around his mug for something to do. Brings it up to his mouth even though it’s still a little too hot to drink from. </p><p>Doyoung sits and there’s a tiny quirk of his lips. </p><p>“I was gonna say brighter,” Doyoung says. “You’re still not funny, though.” </p><p>“You’re still a liar,” Taeyong huffs. </p><p>And then pauses. The words feel loaded. </p><p>Doyoung shrugs, “I am.” </p><p>“Doyoung—” </p><p>“No, let me.” </p><p>A beat. </p><p>“I’m sorry for expecting so much of you and not giving much in return,” Doyoung says. </p><p>Taeyong opens his mouth, but Doyoung lifts his hand slightly. </p><p>“Let me say this.” </p><p>“Okay.” </p><p>“It must have felt really vulnerable for you. I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I did. Or I was learning to. It’s not an excuse, but I want to explain it wasn’t because you did anything to make me mistrust you. I had a partner a few years ago. I was going to propose to her before I found out all the things she’d kept from me.” </p><p>Taeyong’s stomach drops. He isn’t sure he wants to know how this person broke Doyoung’s heart. Made him extra cautious. Guarded. </p><p>“The biggest thing was that she was seeing someone else," Doyoung says.</p><p>Taeyong tries not to flinch.</p><p>"But it was the little things, too," Doyoung continues. "We argued and she told me she felt trapped, she hated how much time I spent with Jiyong, she thought my mom didn’t like her.” </p><p>Doyoung laughs slightly, “She said my job was really pretentious. She was right.” </p><p>There’s something sharp there, a thorn in Doyoung that Taeyong can see only the faintest outline of, and it makes something in Taeyong tense. </p><p>“Did she say something?” </p><p>It’s vague. Purposefully so. Taeyong knows what it’s like to have a band-aid pulled too soon.</p><p>“Just that I was a lot to deal with,” Doyoung smiles and it’s the most brittle one Taeyong’s seen yet. </p><p>It hurts and yet Taeyong relishes the honesty. The trust. <em> He’s showing me the ugly things </em>, Taeyong thinks. </p><p>“She wasn’t for you,” Taeyong says. “She didn’t deserve your intensity.” </p><p>Doyoung’s eyes look shiny under the lights of the cafe. </p><p>“Are you?” Doyoung asks. “Are you for me?” </p><p>“I want to be,” Taeyong says. “If you trust me.” </p><p>“I do,” Doyoung says. “I-I’m sorry for how—” </p><p>“Hey,” Taeyong urges. “We’ve got time. We don’t have rush...assuming you don't plan to run off again any time soon.”</p><p>Doyoung's laughs. </p><p>"I'm staying," he says. </p><p>And Doyoung does. He relaxes into his seat and they spend hours talking about Doyoung’s short fuse, Taeyong’s propensity for avoiding talking about his feelings, and later, when things feel lighter, Mark and Yuta and Sooyoung’s relationship. </p><p>They’re swiping through photos of the trio on Doyoung’s phone — “I can’t believe you knew Mark. This is city can be tiny sometimes.” — when Taeyong builds up the courage to say, “I want to tell you about Jaehyun.” </p><p>And Taeyong does. He doesn’t dig into the details. Tells the outline of the story. Through it all, Doyoung just watches, takes it in. </p><p>“Do you hate him?” Doyoung asks. </p><p>Taeyong wonders what birthed the question. </p><p>“It’s just,” Doyoung clarifies, “it seems like he’s in the wind. That night at Yuta’s, he just exited the situation, and...he hasn’t spoken to Yuta about it at all.” </p><p>Taeyong takes in the information. He sighs through his nose. </p><p>“I don’t hate him,” Taeyong says. “He’s a very hard person to hate.” </p><p>“How so?” </p><p>Taeyong looks at Doyoung. He’s not sure there’s protocol for talking to your current...something… they’re boyfriends now, right? about your ex who wasn’t really your ex. Is Doyoung a jealous person?</p><p>“I’m not gonna get weird. I just...want to know what you liked about him. I feel like I’ll learn you better.” </p><p>“You know me better than he did,” Taeyong squeezes his hand, “but okay. I liked how he spoke to me like I wasn’t a chore or a means to an end. I liked how earnest he seemed about getting to know me. Even when I felt low and stupid, he didn’t make me feel like that.” </p><p>“Taeyongie, you know that’s like, the bare minimum of what a boyfr— anyone should do right?” </p><p>Taeyong frowns slightly, “I know that <em> now </em>. I did then, too, but I felt so small then.” </p><p>Doyoung laces their fingers together. </p><p>“It’s better now, though. I’m feeling better. I don’t need other people to make me feel worthwhile...still, he’s hard to hate because he reminded me that I was.” </p><p>“I knew that,” Doyoung grumbles. “I knew that the day we met.” </p><p>Taeyong laughs, “Are you a jealous person after all?” </p><p>Doyoung frowns into his empty coffee cup and then says in lieu of a response, “More coffee. Do you need more coffee?” </p><p>Taeyong laughs louder and swoops across the table to smack his lips to Doyoung’s before Doyoung rises, cheeks flushed, from the table to return their empty cups and order another round of coffee. </p><p> </p><p>Talking is not always comfortable. Taeyong finds himself having to voice more of his concerns, prod Doyoung when he reverts to his guarded habits, and remind them both that the only way to build trust is to be a little vulnerable. </p><p>Still, Doyoung is willing. Open. He unfurls in increments. One day it’s showing Taeyong a photo album filled with pictures of tiny Gongmyung and even tinier Doyoung romping around their childhood neighborhood in matching overalls. </p><p>The next it’s an old jazz song half hummed half sung under Doyoung’s breath while he helps Taeyong paint a room in his apartment. He learns Doyoung had legitimate voice lessons through college and still sings sometimes when his musician friends are short a singer for a gig. </p><p>Slowly, but surely, the little details about Doyoung that Taeyong coveted are being handed to him. With each tiny bit of information, Taeyong sees new shapes and dips appear in the Doyoung Taeyong already knew. He likes it all. </p><p>Even the ugly things. Like how Doyoung <em> is </em> a jealous person. Not in a scary possessive way, but in a pouty way that bubbles up when he feels bested. Doyoung is competitive, Taeyong learns, in just about everything. He overturns a board game one afternoon and Taeyong feels his irritation spike before he sees Doyoung’s sheepish remorse creep in and he dissolves into breathless laughter. </p><p>The ugly things aren’t always cute either. Doyoung, when upset, is almost non verbal and when prodded before he's ready to talk, he retreats even further. And while Taeyong knows that it isn't personal, it makes Taeyong want to curl in on himself. </p><p>Still, they learn. And Taeyong feels like his heart is fit to burst when Doyoung invites him out to dinner with his work friends and seamlessly draws him into the conversation — pointing out where Taeyong’s and his friends’ interests overlap — with a long arm draped over his shoulder, warm and comforting, the entire night. </p><p>“He loves you,” Ten says outside the restaurant while Doyoung helps a tipsy Kun into a taxi. “He’d kill me for saying that, but I just want you to know, it hurt him when you said it. You have to mean it the next time you do. Or you can’t say it at all.” </p><p>Taeyong nods. </p><p>And something in Ten’s expression softens. A little satisfied cat smile curls the corner of his mouth up. </p><p>“Good, you’re very sweet,” Ten says. “I’d hate to have to be mad at you.” </p><p>Then, before Taeyong can reply, there’s a warmth at Taeyong’s back as Doyoung hooks his chin on Taeyong’s shoulder. </p><p>“What are you talking about?” Doyoung asks. Then, to Ten, “You have your mischief face on. Stop meddling.” </p><p>“I,” Ten raises his hand like witness on the stand, “have never once been mischievous in my life. I’m an angel.” </p><p>“Okay, angel, I got you a taxi, please get home safely.” </p><p>Ten waves at them through the taxi window, flushed and sleepy eyed, and Taeyong marvels at the way Doyoung’s friends are all so very much like him. </p><p>“Are all your friends so…” Taeyong trails off as they walk the few blocks to Doyoung’s apartment. </p><p>“Terrifying? Over the top?” Doyoung offers. </p><p>The tip of his nose is red from the bite starting to creep into the autumn air. His cheekbones are flushed from the beer he drank the lion’s share of and his hair is flopping over his forehead with his bouncing gait. </p><p>Affection surges in Taeyong’s belly and he smooches Doyoung’s cheek before replying, “Yes, but also, I don’t know, <em> cute. </em>” </p><p>Doyoung smiles, “Ten has a particularly puckish nature. Come to think of it, so does Kun.” </p><p>He pauses like Taeyong’s unearthed something. </p><p>“Wow, you might be onto something here. Ten, Kun, Yuta,” Doyoung counts off on his fingers. “This friend group is so mercurial.” </p><p>Taeyong snorts, “And you’re very even keeled, are you?”</p><p>Doyoung huffs and purposely lengthens his stride. </p><p>Taeyong cackles and darts after him. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>The neighborhood is in a dustier part of town. It doesn’t have the same luster of the trendy places they pass. It looks like a faded photograph, like the ones Taeyong hoarded growing up — him, tiny, at his dad’s knee with Mark, tinier, on their dad’s shoulders and the old muscle car behind him. </p><p>Walking up the path to the house, a narrow two story, with a tiny stretch of worn down grass covered in a faint dusting of snow, Taeyong feels like he’s about to punch through the film of this dusty photograph with every step he takes. </p><p>He feels off balance and faintly sick. </p><p>“You wanna go back?” Mark asks at the door. He’d been chatty at the start of the drive before growing quieter as the ETA on the GPS app grew shorter. </p><p>Now, Mark’s hands clench and unclench. </p><p>“Yes,” Taeyong says reaching out to hold Mark’s hand, “but I think we’ll regret it if we don’t at least go in.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mark sighs. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then rings the doorbell. </p><p>“If it’s real bad, we can fuck off,” Taeyong says. “Steal the kid for time lost.” </p><p>Mark snorts. He looks like he’s about to admonish Taeyong, but then the door pulls back to reveal a curly haired kid in a orange t-shirt with a ginger and white spotted cat printed on it. Beneath the cat are the words: <em> i’m purrrfect. </em> </p><p>“Hey,” Mark says and crouches down to stretch out a hand. “I’m Mark.” </p><p>The kid — their brother, Taeyong’s brain supplies — looks at Mark curiously as if he can’t decide if he’s being condescended to or if Mark is just this easy-going and friendly with everyone and not just those under five feet. </p><p>“Donghyuck,” the kid replies finally giving Mark a high-five. </p><p>“Donghyuck!” someone calls, “did you wash up? They’re gonna be here any minute now.” </p><p>“They’re here!” Donghyuck calls back. He steps aside and lets them into the house. </p><p>There’s a thump like someone’s dropped something before a spritely looking woman — tan and bright like Donghyuck — pops her head out of the kitchen. She’s wearing comfortable looking jeans and a sweater with a faded college logo. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.” </p><p>“You were too busy scraping the pots clean,” Donghyuck says. </p><p>The smell of something charred hits Taeyong’s nose. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s present the more he’s aware of it. </p><p>“Mom burned dinner,” Donghyuck says. </p><p>“My son, the sellout,” Donghyuck’s mom says. She pokes Donghyuck in the forehead as he walks over to her before turning to them. “Your dad should be back in a few minutes. He’s picking up some pizza for us since homemade dinner was a bust.” </p><p>“You’re not a very good cook,” Donghyuck says absentmindedly as he wanders into the kitchen. He reappears with a juice box. “I don’t know why you tried.” </p><p>Taeyong bites back a laugh.</p><p>“You can call me Hyerim.”  </p><p>Mark offers Donghyuck’s mom a polite smile. </p><p>“I’m Mark,” he says, bowing slightly like he always does with Korean elders. It’s hard to tell how traditional people are outside their immediate family, but Mark tries.  </p><p>“I know,” Hyerim says. “You look just like the pictures.” </p><p>“Pictures?” Mark blurts out. </p><p>Taeyong knows what he’s thinking. Their father slipping out of the house one night and all his things disappearing.Taeyong figured his mom had just binned everything, but maybe she’d let him come back for his things. Let him have some photos from the album filled with disposable film prints. </p><p>Hyerim smiles and says, “And you’re Taeyong. It’s good to have you both here. Me and Donghyuck have wanted to meet you.” </p><p>Donghyuck flushes slightly and Taeyong’s surprised to find the sight endearing. Taeyong had no intention of being mean or even standoffish to Donghyuck. What their dad did isn’t a reflection of Taeyong’s half-brother. Taeyong knows that. Still, up until that moment, Taeyong hadn’t known for sure that he wouldn’t silently resent him. For having two parents. For having their dad. Without all the baggage. </p><p>“Thanks for having us,” Taeyong tells Hyerim. “We brought dessert.” </p><p>He holds up a tub of ice cream. </p><p>“Green tea flavor,” Mark smiles. </p><p>“Perfect,” Hyerim says. “House favorite.” </p><p><em> It was ours, too</em>, Taeyong doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be petty even though he sees some ugly part of himself in her. The homewrecker. It’s uncharitable. Taeyong doesn’t know her. Maybe she had no idea what she was doing. Maybe she’d been like Taeyong trying desperately to latch onto something. Maybe his dad really did just meet her after the fact. </p><p>Taeyong doesn’t know if he’d feel better learning to like Hyerim or hating her. </p><p>The front door swinging open to reveal his dad, pizza boxes and drinks in arm, keeps Taeyong from descending into more stomach turning thoughts. </p><p>Taeyong grabs the pizza boxes from his dad’s arms and turns away before his dad can even see who has helped him. </p><p>“Donghyuck, where should I put this?” Taeyong asks. </p><p>Donghyuck leads him to a modest sized dining nook opposite the entrance to the kitchen. Taeyong sets the boxes down at the table. </p><p>“Plates?” Taeyong asks. </p><p>Donghyuck darts off and reappears with an armful of plates and silverware stacked on top. Behind him, Mark has a stack of cups between his hands. </p><p>Taeyong is putting a slice down onto Donghyuck’s plate when his dad and Hyerim walk in. </p><p>Taeyong plates a slice for Mark and for himself — looking at this dad in his periphery — in the hopes of avoiding having to start the conversation. </p><p>Dressed in a faded denim top and khaki pants, hair peppered gray, and eyes as big and dark as Taeyong’s, his dad looks older than Taeyong remembers. It’s normal, he knows, but somehow the sight makes him sad. The dad in his memories was as much as hero as he was a villain — larger than life, bright and big even though he was neither the most outgoing or talkative in a group. </p><p>Taeyong imagines his dad probably wears reading glasses now as he writes out postcards to the friends Taeyong remembers from the recreational baseball group he was once part of. Taeyong imagines he still favors the clean eucalyptus scented bar soap that Taeyong had once asked to be bathed with as a toddler, but found overpowering when it wasn’t diluted on his dad’s skin and clothes. </p><p>Taeyong supposes he could find out, ask instead of imagine, but the prospect seems too big in this strange house Taeyong’s never been inside of with this strange dad that Taeyong hasn’t really known since he was a kid. The thought puts a lump in his throat. </p><p>Mark, bless him, strikes up a conversation with Donghyuck that ropes everyone in. Donghyuck is happy to have the attention and regales them with the highlights of his eventful week. He describes in detail the way he pranked a friend with a plastic lizard toy and the puckish way he laughs about it reminds Taeyong of Ten. </p><p>Taeyong wonders what Doyoung would make of Donghyuck. He smiles when he envisions the undoubted love-hate relationship that would form. They’d get such a genuine kick out of each other.  </p><p>“What about you?” Donghyuck asks looking at Taeyong. Something about Donghyuck’s tone feels like he’s parroting some adult interaction he’s seen on tv or in a movie. “How was your week?” </p><p>“You don’t want to hear Mark’s first?” Taeyong teases. “He asked you first.” </p><p>“You seem…” Donghyuck pauses, “mysterious.” </p><p>Taeyong huffs, “I guess I’m more mysterious than Mark is.” </p><p>“Hyungie isn’t mysterious,” Mark protests, “he’s just shy.”</p><p>“Okay, Shy,” Donghyuck clicks his tongue. “What do you do?” </p><p>Taeyong laughs outright, “I work at an art gallery.” </p><p>“What’s that?” </p><p>“It’s a place where artists can show their art and sometimes sell it to people.” </p><p>“Huh, cool.” </p><p>“High praise,” Hyerim remarks. </p><p>“So you help sell the art?” </p><p>“Sometimes. Sometimes I get to interview artists about their art, too.” </p><p>“You interview anyone famous?” </p><p>“Yes, actually, but they’re not like, Beyonce famous.” </p><p>“No one is.” </p><p>Mark snorts into his cup of soda. </p><p>“Do you have a girlfriend?” </p><p>“No,” Taeyong says. Hesitates. Then decides this is a gauntlet he wants to throw down. “I do have a boyfriend, though.”</p><p>Neither Hyerim nor his dad say anything. Donghyuck himself only nods.  </p><p>“What’s he like?” </p><p>Taeyong smiles, “You remind me of him a little.” </p><p>“So he’s very cool.” </p><p>“Sometimes,” Taeyong agrees. “Mostly, he likes causing a little mischief.” </p><p>Donghyuck cracks his first big smile of the night before it slips away slightly replaced by eyes that won’t meet Taeyong’s and a hesitant lilt to his voice. </p><p>“You should bring him next time,” Donghyuck mumbles.</p><p>Taeyong wonders when Donghyuck learned he had two older brothers. If he grew up wondering why they never came around. When their dad explained that they had different moms. If he looked at pictures of them and tried to imagine Taeyong’s and Mark’s personalities. </p><p>“I’ll introduce you to him,” Taeyong promises. He doesn’t want to say he’s coming back to this house. Maybe their dad would be okay with Taeyong and Mark picking up Donghyuck to hang out. Maybe Taeyong would feel more like a real person and not a choked up ball of yarn outside the house his dad lives in. </p><p>“How did you meet him?” Hyerim asks. </p><p>Taeyong wants to begrudge her an answer, but her face is open and curious like she genuinely wants to get to know her husband’s other kids. </p><p>“We met at an art exhibit.”</p><p>“Is he an artist?” she asks. </p><p>“A curator.” </p><p>“What’s that?” asks Donghyuck. </p><p>“He designs art exhibits at a museum,” Taeyong explains.</p><p>“Sounds boring,” Donghyuck decides. </p><p>“I’ll let him know you think so,” Taeyong laughs. </p><p>“What about you, Mark?” Hyerim asks. “You’re finishing up your degree now, right? Any plans for after?” </p><p>Mark hoovers down his pizza crust and says, “Got an entry level job at a studio lined up. I interned for them this year and they want me back. I’m excited to start.” </p><p>“A studio?” Donghyuck asks. </p><p>“Mark makes music,” Taeyong explains. </p><p>Donghyuck’s eyes sparkle. </p><p>“Do you sing?” he asks Mark. </p><p>“He does,” Taeyong says. “Plays the guitar, too.” </p><p>“Cool,” Donghyuck says like he isn’t all but vibrating in his seat. </p><p>“Donghyuck is in his school’s choir,” Hyerim says. “He’s got a lovely singing voice. I don’t know where he gets it from.” </p><p>“Dad can sing,” Donghyuck says. </p><p>“My shower singing isn’t anything like your voice, Hyuckie,” their dad says. </p><p>“And my singing isn’t singing,” Hyerim adds. </p><p>“It’s yelling,” Donghyuck and his dad in chorus. </p><p>The three of them laugh. </p><p>Taeyong takes in their easy smiles, the way Donghyuck and their father look alike with their eyes creased with humor, the way Hyerim folds in her laughter, the way his dad lean towards Donghyuck and Hyerim with open unguarded affection. </p><p>Taeyong wants to punch a hole in the scene. He feels out of touch and incidental to his father’s life in the way he always feared he was. </p><p>Taeyong averts his eyes, looks down at his grease stained plate, and wonders how deranged he’d look if he excused himself to walk around the block a few times. He thinks the chill in the air would do him good, clear his head, give him distance from all these ugly things rushing up to the surface at this table. </p><p>An elbow brushes up against him. Mark leans in as he reaches across to grab the soda and top off Taeyong’s almost empty cup. When their eyes meet, Mark offers him a small smile more with his eyes than with his lips, barely there, but familiar. </p><p>Taeyong quirks his lips up once in reply. Breathes in through his nose quietly and decides the least he can do for Mark is keep it together during this dinner and not fuck off on a stalk through the neighborhood. It’s just a dinner, Taeyong tells himself, it’s almost over, too. </p><p>“Dessert?” Hyerim asks the table. </p><p>Taeyong blinks and finds a smile. He nods, “Sure.” </p><p>“Yes!” Donghyuck grins. </p><p>“Come help me scoop it up,” Hyerim tells him. </p><p>Donghyuck whines, but dutifully slides off his chair and follows after her. </p><p>Taeyong feels his dad’s eyes on the side of his face. He doesn’t understand how he could at one moment want nothing more than his attention and at others, want to disappear under its force. </p><p>“I’m so glad to have you both here,” his dad says. </p><p>Taeyong nods in acknowledgement. What is he supposed to say to that? Taeyong isn’t sure he’s glad to be here. In fact, Taeyong isn’t sure what he is hoping to get out of this. </p><p><em> Taeyong</em>, chides a voice in his head that sounds like Taeil. </p><p>Okay, relents Taeyong, so he does know what he’s hoping to get out this visit. In a barely articulated desire at the back of his mind, mucked up with all his childhood longing, part of Taeyong hopes he can get his dad back. The good memories he has. The things he still loves about his dad when he lets himself be unguarded. </p><p>Now, confronted with how different his father is and how angry he still is, Taeyong doesn’t know how to make such a thing happen. If it’s possible. Taeyong resents his past self for thinking that everything would be as easy as walking into his dad’s house. Taeyong feels stupid for imagining it would be simple. </p><p>But shouldn’t forgiving someone be as easy as wanting to? </p><p>“Donghyuck’s been looking forward to tonight,” their dad continues. </p><p>“He’s sweet,” Mark says. </p><p>“He’s cheeky, but he’s a good boy,” their dad says. “He grew up hearing stories. Mark rolling off the bed and laughing instead of crying. Taeyong coming home with frogs in his pockets and scaring me. He wanted to see how you’d grown up...I did, too.” </p><p>Mark huffs a little. Taeyong isn’t sure what at. Maybe Donghyuck pestering their dad. Maybe the stories their dad had chosen to tell Donghyuck about them. His absent older brothers. </p><p>“Does he understand…” Mark trails off. </p><p>“He knows I was married to your mom when I met Hyerim. That you both are from that marriage.” </p><p>Taeyong wonders what that conversation must’ve been like. When would they have had it? Donghyuck was what? Ten? Eleven? When was a kid ready to hear his dad had an entire family he didn’t know about? Or maybe their dad had told Donghyuck in pieces. </p><p>Maybe Donghyuck, at two and three, had been shown pictures of two boys. Had learned the word brother by looking at two big eyed toddlers in some old photos. Maybe at five and six, Donghyuck learned his brothers lived with their mom who wasn’t Donghyuck’s mom. </p><p>Maybe at nine or ten Donghyuck learned what the dissolving of a marriage was in an intimate scope. Maybe their dad said <em> I messed up </em> or maybe Donghyuck just filled in the blanks himself with the help of some primetime drama. </p><p>“I’m happy you’re here. I know things are,” their dad pauses, “strained, but it means a lot to have you here.” </p><p>He presses on, “I hope you’ll think about coming over again sometime during the holidays. Hyerim celebrates Christmas. I know your mom doesn’t really —” </p><p>“We celebrate Christmas,” Taeyong interrupts. “We go over to mom’s house. Exchange small presents. Eat.”</p><p>It’s usually on Christmas Day. The reasonable part of Taeyong knows they could probably visit their dad on Christmas Eve. Bring a present for Donghyuck. Still, he feels agitated. Mad at his dad for just pushing, pressing, like this wasn’t the first time they were in the same room in years.  </p><p>“Okay. I know you might have plans, but maybe New Year’s then.” </p><p>“We do have plans.”</p><p>“Taeyong, I’m just. I just want to see you.” </p><p>“You’re seeing me.” </p><p>“I’m trying,” their dad says and he looks even older for the tired, worn down slump in his brow as he looks at Taeyong. </p><p>Taeyong feels like a foot stomping toddler, but he can’t stop. </p><p>“You should have tried sooner,” Taeyong spits. “Did you know? It’s barely two fucking hours to drive here from where I live. You spent years living in this place playing the part of some doting dad while we were just two hours away.” </p><p>“Did you know that day you just showed up at my school that I was late to work? That I was picking up the slack since you left. That I was getting used to just not thinking about you and then you just showed up to tell me about…” Taeyong doesn’t say Donghyuck’s name. He doesn’t want to spit it out angrily. He knows his voice is rising. He doesn’t want Donghyuck to think Taeyong’s angry at him. </p><p>“I was so mad at you for showing up like that. Mad you never called us. Never talked to me or Mark on our terms. When it was good for us. Just once when you thought you should apologize...only to fuck off when I got mad.” </p><p>“Yong-ah, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m trying to—” </p><p>“I know! I know you’re trying! But I’m so goddamn angry at you and I don’t know how to stop. I’ve been mad for fucking thirteen years and now we’re here planning Christmas...you were my best friend and you just left.” </p><p>Taeyong feels the humiliating lump in his throat. The tears that rush up like someone’s twisted open the tap full throttle. He doesn’t realize his dad’s crying, too, until Donghyuck rushes up to him with a mournful <em> da-a-ad, don’t. </em> </p><p>There’s a hand at Taeyong’s elbow. Taeyong looks back and finds Mark shiny eyed, but steadfast. </p><p>“We should go,” Mark murmurs. “I promised Sooyoung I wouldn’t be out on the roads too late and…” </p><p><em> And I’ve fucked this dinner up irreversibly, </em>Taeyong thinks. </p><p>Mark nudges him. Oh, maybe he’d said that aloud. </p><p>“Uh,” Mark clears his throat. “We’re gonna head out now. Um, it was good to finally meet you, Donghyuck.” </p><p>Taeyong fully expects Donghyuck to start wailing. Imagines himself at ten meeting estranged brothers that make his parent cry. </p><p>Still, Donghyuck must be more mature than Taeyong because he only nods from where he’s folded himself into their dad’s side. </p><p>Taeyong walks out of the house empty-headed. He watches Mark say goodbye and thanks to Hyerim when they spot her on their way past the kitchen. She offers a small wave and then they’re down the drive way piling into Mark’s car. </p><p>They’re on the highway, driving in silence because neither of them had bothered to cue up music when they started the GPS, when Taeyong feels his face start getting tacky with dried tears.</p><p>“I’m sorry if —” he starts. </p><p>“Don’t be,” Mark says. “You needed to get that out. You’re allowed to still be mad. You didn’t do anything wrong.” </p><p>“I just didn’t want to drag you out of there like that. I know this was important to you, too.” </p><p>“Honestly,” Mark flicks his signal and changes lanes. “I wanted to go home as soon as they started just, like, laughing together.” </p><p>Taeyong stares at Mark, “Really?” </p><p>“Really, they looked like some catalogue models for home goods,” Mark says and it’s so uncharacteristically catty that it startles a bark of laughter out of Taeyong. </p><p>“God, they fucking did,” Taeyong sighs. “I was so fucking jealous. And sad.” </p><p>“Me, too,” Mark whispers. Then, “I’m glad we went though. I think we needed to see him in that house.” </p><p>Taeyong hums, “We should...I don't know, we should see if Donghyuck still wants to see us after this.” </p><p>Mark nods, “Yeah. He...I don’t want him to think it’s about him.” </p><p>They fall into silence for a stretch. </p><p>“Damn, what a weird night,” Mark says. “Can you text Yuta to tell him to have a blunt rolled for me when I get there?” </p><p>Taeyong snorts, but complies. He ends up going home with Mark and sharing the blunt with him before passing out on Yuta’s couch. </p><p> </p><p>Doyoung picks him up late in the morning. He lets himself into Yuta’s with a key and flops on top of Taeyong on the couch. They call out of work and go to a nearby place for brunch. Taeyong orders an enormous platter and splits a carafe of coffee with Doyoung. </p><p>Taeyong waits patiently for Doyoung to take a picture of their table, laid out with plate after plate of sumptuous looking dishes, before taking his first bite. He groans. </p><p>“Sir,” Doyoung says in a nasal customer service representative voice, “you can’t spontaneously orgasm at this establishment.” </p><p>“It’s my body. I do what I want,” Taeyong says around a mouthful of food. </p><p>Doyoung hums, like he’s considering it, “It’s allowed. Make it pretty though. No one here wants to see an ugly o-face.” </p><p>Taeyong laughs into his water glass, water splashing up at him slightly, before leveling a stern look at Doyoung. </p><p>“You woke up very spritely,” Taeyong remarks. </p><p>“I always do,” Doyoung sneers. Then laughs. Probably at the thought of how he actually wakes up: bleary eyed, confused, and often cranky. “I heard your visit wasn’t the best.” </p><p>“Who told?”</p><p>“Who do you think? Your new mom.” </p><p>“Yuta cannot be my mom. He’s seeing Mark. Incest in the nuclear family is too much for me to deal with.” </p><p>“He’s your metaphorical mom then. We’re gay,” Doyoung shrugs as if to say <em> what can we do about it? </em></p><p>“You’re at least half heterosexual,” Taeyong replies. He figures if they’re being blatantly ridiculous he might as well lean in. </p><p>Doyoung breaks. His shoulders shake as he lets loose a gaggle of unbecoming goose honks. Taeyong thinks that together they may have some of the most ugly laughs he’s ever heard, but he finds it endearing. </p><p><em> Love is a curse</em>, he remembers Yuta crowing last night as Mark let out a radioactive fart that made them open the windows in spite of the thirty degree weather outside. </p><p>Now, sitting across from Doyoung, feeling something warm unspool between them as they cackle in obnoxious chorus, Taeyong thinks he knows what Yuta means. He feels stupid with his affection. Charmed by a string bean man with a terrible attitude. And unbearably fond in spite of his truly goofy laugh. </p><p>“I blew up at him,” Taeyong says. “My dad.” </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah. He just...it was a lot. We were in this home he’s been living in for years with his new wife — the woman he left us for — and his son. They have inside jokes and he has a whole life he led without me and Mark. I felt like some road bump in their lives. Small.” </p><p>Doyoung slides his hand over Taeyong’s on the table. Squeezes. </p><p>“And then I lashed out. I know I have a right to be angry, but I just hate that I lost it like that. In front of them. I wanted to be past it, but I’m not.” </p><p>“You don’t have to be,” Doyoung says. “Some things… this isn’t the most optimistic thought, but some things are just with us. Some things we don’t move past easily or at all so go at your own pace.”</p><p>“But I want to be. I want to be past this feeling,” Taeyong sighs, “but I don’t know how to forgive him. I don’t know if I can.” </p><p>“Forgiveness is hard.” </p><p>“How did you…” </p><p>“How did I forgive you? There wasn’t — you hadn’t done —”</p><p>“I kept something from you. You found out that I’d been someone just like your ex — that I’d almost broken up a relationship.” </p><p>“First, you’re nothing like her. Second, I was hurt. A little because you hadn’t told me, but mostly because I never fully processed what happened with my ex. The thing that hurt me most was what you said about me keeping things from you, too. I realized that you were right, that we were both guilty of similar things...and then, the more I thought about it, the more I knew I’d much rather forgive you for that than miss out on this relationship.” </p><p>“Is it hard to trust me now?” </p><p>“I trust you more now than I did then. You were right. I was keeping my distance. These days, I feel like I know you like I know me.”</p><p>Taeyong laces their fingers. </p><p>“Do I want him in my life more than I want him out of it?” Taeyong considers. “Do I need to forgive him to move on?”</p><p>“I think you can find closure without forgiving people,” Doyoung muses, “but, if you want to have a relationship with him, it’s going to take work.” </p><p>“I wish I could fast forward to the resolution.” </p><p>“Life isn’t a movie.” </p><p>“I wish it was.” </p><p>“Don’t be greedy. You’re already in a relationship with a man with movie star looks. We can’t have it all.” </p><p>“Movie star looks?” </p><p>“Am I lying?” </p><p>“You do bear a striking resemblance to Goofy.” </p><p>The splutter of laughter that escapes Doyoung is a treat. </p><p>They leave the restaurant with to-go orders for Mark and Yuta and let themselves into the apartment again just as the late risers are waking up. </p><p>Mark, suffering from a severe case of bed head, pokes his head up like a startled animal at the sound of the door. </p><p>“Hyungie,” Mark says. “You were out?” </p><p>Doyoung snorts, “You didn’t check the couch?” </p><p>“Morning Mark isn’t the most aware,” Taeyong huffs ruffling Mark’s hair as he steps past him to set the brown bag down on the kitchen counter. </p><p>“Food?” Mark asks hopefully. </p><p>“Food,” Taeyong confirms. “For Yuta, too. Don’t eat everything.” </p><p>“Love is letting me eat to my heart’s content,” Mark grumbles as he uncurls the mouth of the bag and pulls out the boxes.  </p><p>“Love is not eating delicious take out alone, you gremlin,” Yuta groans as he walks into the kitchen, arms pulled above his head in a stretch. </p><p>Crowding Mark up against the counter, Yuta takes several smooches in retribution from a squirming Mark. </p><p>“I’m hungry, stop bothering me,” Mark whines.</p><p>He pushes at Yuta. </p><p>They bicker some more before settling in at the counter eating straight from the boxes pausing only to pull clean spoons from the dishwasher. </p><p>“Fuck,” Yuta sighs. “Is this from that place by the laundromat?” </p><p>“Yup,” Doyoung replies. </p><p>“I love you most, Do-ing,” Yuta mumbles into his food. </p><p>“You better,” Doyoung sneers. “Who else would treat you like I do?” </p><p>“You’re right,” Yuta simpers. “Who else would berate me daily and treat me to the occasional meal in petty recompense.” </p><p>“The occasional meal?” Doyoung scoffs and then starts into a now familiar rant. </p><p>“We get it,” Taeyong interrupts eventually, “you birthed him and gave him the clothes on his back.” </p><p>Yuta snorts. </p><p>“Do-Mom,” Mark comments absentmindedly. Then snickers. </p><p>“Infants,” Doyoung snaps, but his shoulders are shaking with barely suppressed laughter. </p><p>Taeyong’s stomach swoops and a dangerous thought tickles the back of his throat. He almost blurts it out into the warm air that’s settled over them, but bites it down. </p><p>Soon, thinks Taeyong, taking in the way Doyoung rolls his eyes at another jab Yuta takes, soon.</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>The holidays descend onto them much the same way the first snowfall does — too early, heavy, and relentless. Taeyong likes Christmas. Even in the early days following his dad leaving, when presents were small and preciously saved for, Taeyong loved the way his mom would carve out time for the three of them to be together. The holidays marked a time when she would shed her usual pragmatic levelheaded quality and grow generous with her affection, her dreams, and little family anecdotes that felt precious as jewels. </p><p>“Yong-ah,” she says as they linger over Christmas lunch. Mark had joined them and left early to pack for his flight. Yuta’s parents were hosting him and Sooyoung for a few days. “You seem so happy these days.” </p><p>Taeyong startles and laughs quietly, “I guess I am. Things are going well for me at work. I really like the friends I’ve made there.” </p><p>“And you have someone, right?” she prompts. </p><p>“I’ve told you about Doyoung before, haven’t I?”</p><p>“You said he works in a similar field and was around your age, but little else. Tell me about him. What is it about him that you love so much?”</p><p>“Mom!”</p><p>“Don’t be shy. You’re my baby,” she smiles, eyes creasing with equal parts mischief and good humor. “Of course I’d know you’re in love.” </p><p>“Well, I didn’t really know that until recently,” Taeyong huffs. </p><p>“You’ve always been a little out of touch with yourself about the hard things,” she says, smile dimming slightly. “You probably got it from me. Trying to go through everything with a stiff upper lip.” </p><p>“Mom, don’t,” Taeyong grabs her hands where they rest on the table. “I got the best parts of me from you. I’m grateful for them.” </p><p>Her eyes are dewy. She slides a hand free to pat at his. </p><p>“You’re a good boy, Yong-ah,” she says. “Tell me about this man.” </p><p>“Doyoung is sweet, but he rarely acts like it,” Taeyong huffs. “He’ll do something really thoughtful and kind, but act as if it’s just what I deserve and not something special.” </p><p>His mom smiles. </p><p>“He sounds great.” </p><p>“He is. He can be stubborn and a little mean if you cross him, but he makes me feel like I’m just right the way I am. Like everything is as easy as saying what I want.” </p><p>“And what do you want?” </p><p>“I want more of everything. I want to keep taking classes at the university. I want to keep working at the gallery. I want to try making art, too. I don’t know that I’d be very good at it, but I want to.” </p><p>“I’m so glad to hear that, Yong-ah. I think you should. My friend —” </p><p>“ — your boyfriend,” Taeyong laughs lightly. </p><p>His mom narrows her eyes playfully, “My boyfriend has encouraged me to make lists of all the things I want to do. Even the far fetched things. And see what I can make happen when I don’t set limits for myself.” </p><p>“It feels kind of hokey sometimes,” she huffs, “but I like writing them and then, weeks or months later, seeing what I can cross off. Sometimes, it’s nothing, but other times, I cross off something I never imagined I would do.” </p><p>“That sounds wonderful,” Taeyong says. </p><p>He imagines his mom scribbling something on the back of one of the junk mail envelopes she’s fished from the mailbox or maybe in a pretty journal her boyfriend has gifted her. He hopes her list is filled tight with her ambitions and that she hasn’t given up any space on the list for him or Mark. </p><p>“You deserve it,” Taeyong says thinking back to the exhausted way his mom would slip into their apartment after a long shift at the hospital. The way she would still poke her head in on Mark and watch movies with Taeyong. </p><p>“You’re a good boy, Yong-ah,” his mom says. Then, her mouth twists the way it always does when she’s choosing her words. “Mark said your visit with Dad didn’t go very well.” </p><p>Taeyong’s breath leaves him in a shudder. Talking about his dad with his mom always makes Taeyong feel like he’s one second away from bawling. </p><p>“You could say that,” Taeyong tries to smile. </p><p>His mom pulls a face and squeezes his hand. </p><p>“I know we don’t talk about this…” she starts. “We’re both too similar in that way, but I need you to know that if you’re angry on my behalf, you don’t have to be. I was angry for a long time, but I’m not anymore.” </p><p>Taeyong swallows. </p><p>“I-it isn’t just on your behalf,” Taeyong says after a beat. “I’m afraid you raised a selfish son.” </p><p>She swats at his hand lightly. </p><p>“Don’t,” she warns. </p><p>And Taeyong puffs out a helpless laugh. He’s surrounded by people, it seems, who won’t let him lie or joke around his tender spots. </p><p>“Part of it was being angry for you,” Taeyong relents, “but you’re happy. You seem to have adjusted. It’s just me...I’m still angry at him for leaving me.” </p><p>She doesn’t say anything. </p><p>“I know that I am in control of my life, that the decisions I've made are my own, but I feel like he just...detonated something in me when he left. I was so resentful and angry deep down for so long. I feel like I wasted so much time.” </p><p>“You don’t have to forgive him,” his mom says finally, “but you need to find a kind of closure.” </p><p>“I don’t know how,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“Have you told him how he hurt you?” his mom asks. </p><p>“I started yelling at him during our visit.” </p><p>“It’s a start,” his mom laughs. “<em>If </em>you want to, I would start by telling him how you feel. Let it all out, see what he says, and do only what you want.” </p><p>“I’m scared. I-it can’t hurt more than it does now, but I feel like if I see him again, it’ll be like getting to the end of this big <em> what if</em>.” </p><p>“What if?” </p><p>“Like, what if I meet him again and realize that the good relationship I want to have with him is a pipe dream...a window of opportunity that closed years ago. It's like if I don’t face him, if I don’t try, then I don’t know for sure that things are broken beyond repair.” </p><p>“Yong-ah, you haven’t really had a relationship with him,” his mom says and it feels like she's cauterizing a wound. “He doesn’t know you. And you don’t really know him. You were so young when he left.”</p><p>Taeyong flinches. </p><p>“I just mean that if you meet him again and if you find out that a relationship isn’t possible, it doesn’t change much because right now, while you’re keeping your distance, you don’t have a relationship with him either.” </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>“Come on,” Doyoung says, shouldering a path out of the train car. “If we don’t move now, these drunk fucks will keep us trapped here til’ the end of the line.” </p><p>Taeyong latches a hand onto the back of Doyoung’s jacket and follows him through the throng of bodies and out onto the platform. </p><p>It’s a crush of people all waiting for a ride to their preferred New Year’s Eve celebration. Taeyong makes out party hats and and glasses already propped on people’s heads or poking out of coat pockets as he darts up the steps after Doyoung to the nearest exit. </p><p>“This shit is heavy,” Doyoung puffs at the top of the stairs and turns to Taeyong to drop the two boxes of Franzia into his open arms. “Your turn.” </p><p>“This is what we get for trying to be cost effective,” Taeyong grunts as they start off in the direction of Yuta’s building. </p><p>“If we’d gone for one or two bottles, Yuta would’ve annoyed us the entire night,” Doyoung says. “This is cheaper than trying to buy a crate.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Taeyong huffs in acknowledgement. </p><p>Doyoung curses as a wicked gust of wind whooshes down the street and turns his jacket collar up. </p><p>“It’s what you get for trying to look hot,” Taeyong bites out around his own chattering teeth. When Doyoung looks back at Taeyong and down at his unzipped leather jacket, Taeyong amends, “It’s what we both get.” </p><p>“Stop trying to be funny and hurry up,” Doyoung says. </p><p>“You only want me for my biceps,” Taeyong says. </p><p>Doyoung is still laughing when they let themselves into Yuta’s apartment. </p><p>Inside, there’s a decent number of people trailing from room to room drinks in hand and chatting as music bumps through the apartment. They find Yuta on the couch perched on Sooyoung’s lap as she chats to a woman with a bleached buzz cut. </p><p>“Do-ing,” Yuta chirps upon sighting them. “Yongie.” </p><p>“Are you already drunk?” Doyoung rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Just buzzed,” Sooyoung says over Yuta’s shoulder. “Someone initiated a slap the bag thing pretty early on and baby is still feeling it. You know how he is with wine.” </p><p>“Baby,” Doyoung cackles. </p><p>“Shut your hole, Doyoungie,” Yuta sneers. “I cannot be shamed for being cute in my own home.” </p><p>“Or anywhere else,” Sooyoung pats his head fondly. </p><p>“Where’s Mark?” Taeyong asks peeking around for signs of his brother. </p><p>“I think he’s on the balcony with Jeno,” Yuta says. “Jen-Jen is having some romantic troubles.” </p><p>“What? Who is it? I’ll fight them,” Doyoung says. “Jeno is the most precious person to ever live.” </p><p>Taeyong stares at him. </p><p>“Excuse me?” </p><p>“I said what I said.” </p><p>Yuta snorts, “To be fair, Jeno is an angel.” </p><p>“And you’re a brat,” Doyoung tells Taeyong. </p><p>Taeyong rolls his eyes, “Why do I put up with you?” </p><p>“My waist is snatched,” Doyoung shrugs, “and my shoulders are to die for.” </p><p>“God gave you unspeakable proportions to make up for your terrible personality,” Yuta sighs. “Proof no one can have everything.” </p><p>Taeyong shakes his head and excuses himself to find a drink while Doyoung and Yuta descend into their typical bickering. </p><p>In the kitchen, helping himself to a cup of wine is Jaehyun. Yuta had hinted that he might show up. Apparently, Jaehyun had been talking to Yuta more these days — processing — although Yuta won’t disclose what they discuss. In truth, Taeyong doesn’t really want to know. </p><p>“Hi,” Jaehyun says after Taeyong finally steps into the kitchen proper. He’s lingered in the doorway a little too long to gracefully excuse himself or pretend he hasn’t recognized Jaehyun. </p><p>“Hey,” Taeyong laughs a little. Mostly at himself. </p><p>“What’s funny?” Jaehyun asks. </p><p>It comes out a little more defensive than he probably means it to. Taeyong knows Jaehyun always preferred to appear uninvested in situations he felt unsure about. </p><p>“Just me,” Taeyong says honestly. “The situation.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Jaehyun relaxes his shoulders slightly and nods. “What are the odds that your new...that your boyfriend would be friends with Yuta.” </p><p>Taeyong hums, “I guess it’s a small enough city in some ways. Uh, are you here with Johnny?” </p><p>He tries not to wince. Hopes it doesn’t sound too leading a question. Doesn’t know how to ask <em> is it okay for us to be talking like this? The last time you saw me you acted like I didn’t exist</em>. </p><p>“Ah, Johnny is at a friend’s party. We’re gonna meet up a little closer to midnight at our place,” Jaehyun says. </p><p>Then, he shrugs, “Things are different between us right now.” </p><p>“Oh,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“We’re just...trying to actually talk about, you know, what happened between you and me,” Jaehyun offers. “We didn’t really do that before.” </p><p>Taeyong smiles, has a moment of premonition, “You said it was all me?” </p><p>“No,” Jaehyun starts. “I didn’t — back then, I mean, Johnny saw. He knew it was both of us.” </p><p>“But you blamed me,” Taeyong presses, egging Jaehyun on. “You wrote it off as a one time things that happened because of me.” </p><p>“It wasn’t just me either,” Jaehyun says. </p><p>“I know that,” Taeyong agrees. “We were in it together...but somewhere along the way, you started looking at me like I was going to ruin your life.” </p><p>Jaehyun stares, “It felt like you were. You’re just...so much.” </p><p>The assessment doesn’t hurt as much as Taeyong thought it would, but Taeyong pours himself a cup of box wine for something to do while he thinks of how to reply.</p><p>“That’s how I felt towards the end,” Taeyong agrees eventually. “So much, too much, out of control. For a minute, I did want to ruin your life.”</p><p>“Is that why?” Jaehyun starts then stops. Looks at Taeyong’s mouth. </p><p>“No,” Taeyong shakes his head. “I was just so...relieved, happy to see you at that stuffy party. You looked so bright and welcoming. I suddenly wanted a little taste of all the things your eyes promised me. Why not? I thought...and then I was reminded.”</p><p>Jaehyun flinches, “Johnny knows that I…” </p><p>“Wanted me?” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, he knows. I-I well, we’re working on things. Talking. And it made me realize that you probably thought I hated you based on how I acted when I saw you here last time...but, I, if you care, I don’t — hate you that is. I don’t hate you. I just...whenever I see you, I feel ashamed and not just because of how I hurt Johnny...but because I think I hurt you, too.” </p><p>Taeyong looks at Jaehyun sharply. </p><p>“You must’ve felt like I led you on...I did. You didn’t know at first and I took advantage of that, but it wasn’t...there’s nothing wrong with you Taeyong...I’m sorry if maybe I made you feel that way. No matter how bad an idea it was...I really liked you, Yong-ah. You didn’t imagine it. You weren’t alone in that. I’m sorry for how it happened.” </p><p>“Me, too,” Taeyong says simply. "I'm sorry." </p><p>He grabs his cup and says something to excuse himself. He isn’t sure how to leave the situation and he’s not doing it gracefully. </p><p>Jaehyun’s face changes like he senses Taeyong’s unspoken goodbye and doesn’t begrudge him.  </p><p>“Take care,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“Happy New Year,” Jaehyun nods. </p><p>“Happy New Year,” Taeyong tips his head and ducks out of the kitchen. </p><p>He bumps into Mark as the latter steps out of the balcony and back into the living room. Mark’s got the chill of the winter air on his skin, but Taeyong accepts the frosty hug.</p><p>Beside Mark, there’s a pale and elegant looking man in minimalist glasses. When Mark introduces them, Jeno’s resulting eye smile is surprisingly warm and endearing. </p><p>“Oh, my God,” Jeno says. “You’re Doyoungie-hyung’s boyfriend. I’m sorry in advance for being the other woman.” </p><p>Mark looks between them and squawks with fully body laughter at the can of worms his friend has unearthed. </p><p>For his part, Jeno maintains an earnest expression even as there’s something about his posture that radiates mayhem. </p><p>“Nice to meet you,” Taeyong smiles. “Baby gremlin.” </p><p>Jeno cracks a big smile then, throwing his head back much like Doyoung does when he finds something full body funny. </p><p>“He said you’d be like this,” Jeno smiles. </p><p>“Irresistably charming and devilishly handsome?” </p><p>Mark groans. </p><p>“Try weird in a way that belies your face,” Doyoung says appearing at Taeyong’s side with a long suffering expression. </p><p>“My handsome face,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“You did call him handsome,” Jeno shrugs. </p><p>Grinning, Taeyong leans into Doyoung’s side. </p><p>“That’s neither here nor there. Now, who is this person that’s got you sad?” Doyoung asks. “Do I need to break someone?” </p><p>“Hyungie,” Jeno whines before proceeding to spill the beans on this <em>weird</em> and <em>stupid</em> <em>attractive guy </em>in his sociology class that has definitely been flirting with him, but then started downright ignoring Jeno in class and giving one word responses in their texts. </p><p>“It’s super weird,” Mark affirms. “I met the guy and he seemed super into you.” </p><p>“Wait,” Taeyong interrupts. “Mark met him.” </p><p>“Yeah, we ran into him getting coffee at the campus shop,” Mark nods. </p><p>“Jen,” Taeyong says. “You have to pay me in embarrassing Doyoungie stories if I help you.” </p><p>Jeno narrows his eyes, “Those were yours anyway. I’ll buy you a coffee. What do you know?” </p><p>“He probably thinks Mark’s your boyfriend,” Taeyong says. </p><p>“What? We’re like bros,” Mark says. </p><p>“Very affectionate bros,” Doyoung hums. “You hold hands sometimes and Jeno throws you around like a stuffed animal.” </p><p>“Oh, my God,” Jeno groans. “I can’t believe I sabotaged myself by being friends with Mark Lee.” </p><p>“Excuse me,” Mark bleats. “You’re by far the huggier one out of us two.” </p><p>“Cute,” Taeyong coos. “Wholesome queer friendships. Why don’t I have friends people mistake as my lovers?” </p><p>“You have an actual lover,” Mark snorts as Jeno pulls Mark into a violent side squeeze in retribution. </p><p>“And you literally give Jungwoo kisses sometimes,” Doyoung says. </p><p>Taeyong laughs and they wander over to join Yuta and Sooyoung. Mark squeezes in between the two of them on the couch and smooches their foreheads. Yuta flops onto Mark, snuggling in, and whispers something that makes Marks laugh. </p><p>“Hey,” Taeyong whispers, sliding close to say it more to Doyoung’s neck than his face. “I like you a lot.” </p><p>Doyoung’s hand, threaded into the hair at Taeyong’s nape, pauses and then resumes its scratching. </p><p>“I like you a lot, too,” Doyoung huffs. “I love you, even.” </p><p>Taeyong freezes, but Doyoung’s hand just keeps scratching. </p><p>“Don’t say it back if you don’t feel that way,” Doyoung says. “I just thought I’d tell you…” His words trail off as Taeyong pulls away from his neck to press a kiss at his chin. </p><p>“Thank you,” Taeyong says. </p><p>Doyoung nods, eyes serious for a moment, as he tugs at one of Taeyong’s earlobes. It’s a tiny gesture, but it warms him all over and the words that have been crowding the back of his mouth for weeks now spill over. </p><p>“I love you, too.” </p><p>It’s quiet, hard to hear over the din of Yuta’s guests, but the smile — equal parts sheepish and proud — that overtakes Doyoung’s face lets Taeyong know he’s been heard. </p><p>Doyoung looks so pleased it makes Taeyong flush. He burrows his face back into Doyoung’s neck, grumbling at Doyoung’s quiet laugh, until the countdown commences. At one, Taeyong fights Yuta and Sooyoung and Jeno to kiss Mark’s face first only to have Doyoung slide in between them and smooch Mark’s forehead himself. </p><p>The scrunchy nosed irritation from Mark complete with the self-satisfied look Doyoung fixes on the rest of them has Taeyong crying with laughter long after. </p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>“He looks like you,” Doyoung says as they peer out the car window. </p><p>Taeyong’s dad is waiting outside a small bookstore with a built in cafe. Yuta had recommended it a few weeks ago for its assortment of arts biographies and Taeyong thought it might be the easiest place to meet his dad at. Somewhere new to the both of them. A place with no history. </p><p>“You think so?” Taeyong asks as he takes in the plain blue puffer coat his dad wears alongside a knitted cap so mismatched and wonky it has to be a present from Donghyuck. </p><p>“Mmm,” Doyoung nods. “You have the same posture. All elbows and neck. Anxious pigeon posture gene.” </p><p>Taeyong snorts in spite of himself and Doyoung reaches out to squeeze his hands before grabbing the mittens looped through Taeyong’s coat sleeves and sliding them over Taeyong’s hands. </p><p>“Don’t freak,” Doyoung says. “You don’t owe him anything. This is about you. If you need me, I’ll be hanging out in that plant nursery trying to find something else that I can’t kill.” </p><p>“Okay,” Taeyong nods. </p><p>And it is. He feels a strange ease overcome him as he shuts the car door behind him and crosses the street to meet his dad. Like Doyoung’s words peeled back some final layer, Taeyong sees in his father’s reticent gestures the same internalized, tightly wound ball of neuroses that Taeyong recognizes in himself. </p><p>It had once been Taeyong’s greatest fear that he and his father were just alike, but now he finds it a balm to know they are. Taeyong feels, for the first time in a long time, like he knows how to talk to his dad. </p><p>Maybe, Taeyong thinks as he dips his head silently in greeting and pulls back the shop door for his dad, nothing will come of recognizing himself in this man who had unknowingly built the skeleton of Taeyong’s trauma. </p><p>Still, Taeyong takes a breath as he follows his dad inside, maybe by seeing himself in his dad Taeyong could start learning how he could forgive them both. And if it turns out forgiveness is impossible after all, maybe understanding that and moving forward from there will be enough. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's all, folks. I hope it's been fun. If you're so inclined, leave a comment to let me know what you think. You can also find me at @tuxedomaskoo on Twitter yelling into the void about Doyoung if that's your jam.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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